The Little Golem Boy
by ChampionTheWonderSnail
Summary: When Eirin Cousland attends her first Tournament at Redcliffe, she rescues an odd little boy. Years later, she will find it wasn't such a chance encounter as it seemed.
1. Prologue  Highever

This story came about by a random remark Alistair makes just outside the Wonders of Thedas during a visit to Denerim. It kind of stuck with me and wouldn't go away, like a bit of soft cheese stuck to the roof of your mouth. In any case it seems to have set the stage for the kinds of gifts that he likes to receive from your PC.

Oh, and clearly, all the characters, locations etc belong to Bioware. Just thought I'd borrow them a bit for a quick trip down memory lane (or one of the many possible ones). Though I think there's a slice of Redcliffe Red in there with my name on it. Unless Alistair gets to it first. Which is quite possible.

The Little Golem Boy

**Prologue – Highever**

Lichen. Eirin could feel the rough edges of it under her finger tips as she ran her hand along the wall. She felt cool stone; edges worn smooth by the passing of time and many bodies. She came to an opening in the wall, an arms-span across and the tiny bumps of… one, two, three… five toes. _The statue of Elethea Cousland, I must be getting close._

Her other hand rested lightly on her Mabari's neck, his fur tickling her elbow; his massive head was level with her chest.

Eirin Cousland, second child of the Teyrn of Highever kept her eyes closed as she made her way around the outer gallery wall. There was something about the sensation of stone passing under her hand - as though she could feel the history stored in the rock and mortar. And there was something about the sound her nails made as they scraped along the wall, coupled with the soft clicking of the Mabari's claws on the flagstone.

The two of them stepped into a narrow shaft of sunlight and Eirin stopped, basking in the warmth of the morning sun.

_Hmm, let's see. If I turn down _here _I'll be at the chapel._ Eirin measured the angle in her mind, turned and with the confidence of youth took a step forward...smacking into the wall.

"Ouch!"

She peeled open one eye and sighed in exasperation. She was nowhere near the chapel and if she had turned around too far, she would have stepped into a drain and probably broken an ankle.

"You could have warned me," she told the Mabari, who sat and pulled back his jowls in a canine grin. No sympathy there.

There were footsteps. The Mabari gave a short bark.

"There you are!"

Eirin's older brother Fergus approached her, shrugging into his riding cloak.

"Mother's sent no less than three servants to find you," he told her, attempting a scolding tone and failing. Fergus was far too good natured to be angry at anyone for long and especially not at his younger sister.

"If we don't leave soon, Father says, we won't be anywhere near Kinloch Hall by nightfall."

Eirin fell into step beside her brother as the two of them returned the way Fergus had come. Fergus was not a particularly tall lad. Though at sixteen he had still to reach his full height, he tended towards the slightly stockier side of the Cousland line. He was in looks, build and temperament his father's copy.

On the other hand, Eirin was definitely her mother's daughter; slender, dark-haired and equipped with the same fiery determination. _Cousland's Little Spitfire_, family friends and acquaintances were beginning to call her.

The Couslands as a family preferred to be at home, taking the odd trip to Denerim whenever the Teyrn had business in the capital. So the trip to Redcliffe was both rare and something of a treat. Eirin had never been there before but Fergus had, with their father. They liked to attend the annual Redcliffe Tournament and this year Fergus intended to enter the lists for the first time.

Fergus was regaling his sister with an account of Ser Brydon's joust the previous year when the two of them stepped into the courtyard. By the look on the Teyrna's face and the frequency of her tapping foot it was clear the party had been there for some time.

"They couldn't stop the bleeding," Fergus chuckled. "Ser Maugrin's lance broke off at the _hilt _and lodged itself in-"

"Fergus!" Lady Cousland's voice sliced through the air. "I hardly think that particular story a fit one for your sister."

Fergus blinked in bafflement. His younger sister was a _Cousland _and had never been squeamish about these sorts of things. In fact, she was probably one of the most bloodthirsty people he knew. How many seven year old girls organised their dolls into armies and managed to cajole their nannies into knitting – _knitting _– woollen chainmail for them, so that they could march into battle against Orlesian Legions (even if those Orlesians held an uncanny resemblance to Hound, her elderly Mabari)?

He shrugged at his mother, while Eirin grinned beside him. "Eirin doesn't mind a bit of blood."

"A bit?" Eirin cocked her head to the side. "I thought you said there were buckets and buckets-"

"I think," Bryce Cousland interjected hastily, hoisting his daughter bodily into the air and swinging her easily onto his horse, "that we should get underway. There are many miles to put behind us and Redcliffe awaits."

As Erin argued that particular detail (how can Redcliffe 'wait'? It wasn't going anywhere, was it?), the Teryn and his wife shared a _look._ Eleanor Cousland remembered that particular story as it had been told with great relish by her husband the year before. She knew exactly where that lance had lodged itself and though a healer had been very quick to attend to Ser Brydon, the way Bryce told it the poor man would never walk quite the same way again.

In any case, Eirin and Fergus had moved on to other subjects and the Teyrn gave the order for their party to move out...


	2. Chapter 1 Cheese and Apples

Hello everyone - chapter 1 has been revised by my spelling and grammar guru, so it should hopefully read less like it was written by a sleep-walker. The last section of the chapter has also been expanded and hopefully feels less abrupt. I'm also hoping to have Part 2 up soon. This was supposed to be a very short fluff piece, but the characters had other ideas (they sat me down, plied me with red wine and said, _now listen up…_)

I was also initially going to put Thomas Howe in this somewhere, then worked out the age difference and realised a toddler probably wouldn't have made a very convincing bad guy (a tiny tot leading his gang of nappy-clad brats around Redcliffe Village just wasn't going to work, I'm afraid).

Thanks to Bioware for creating such an engaging game and adorable, huggable characters – they own them - and the locations and probably my soul by now.

oOo

**Chapter 1 – Cheese and Apples**

"Mother, my feet hurt!"

Eleanor paused at the washstand to look over at her daughter. Her gaze travelled over the small braided head, over the blue brocade dress, to the small, satin-encased feet. Her daughter really was adorable, Eleanor thought with an inner sigh – when she wasn't tearing around in ripped trousers and a layer of mud.

The slippers that appeared to offend her daughter the most were a confection of careful embroidery and stitched silk ribbon, dark blue to match her dress and eyes perfectly.

"Why can't I wear ordinary shoes?" Eirin asked, perhaps for the tenth (or was it fifteenth?) time...Eleanor had lost count. 'Ordinary' meant boots; sturdy leather ones with thick soles. The kind of footwear that Eleanor had had Alara hide as soon as Eirin had been persuaded to remove them.

It had been a battle to get Eirin to wear the dress, much less stand still long enough for her hair to be arranged. Eirin Cousland was slipperier than an eel when she wanted to be and she made a game of evading the maids. It was one of the reasons why Eleanor preferred elves for this purpose – they had good reflexes and Eirin had a lot of affection for Alara besides. The older elven maid need only look a little sad and Eirin became docile and obedient.

For two minutes, anyway.

"We can't greet the Arlessa in dirty boots," the Teyrna told her daughter, knowing how weak an argument that was.

"Why not?" Eirin asked, her nose wrinkling, then added hopefully, "Won't the Arlessa be wearing them too?"

Eleanor swallowed a chirp of laughter. She was trying to be stern. The new Arlessa was Orlesian and very fashionable. She doubted very much whether anything with the descriptions of 'practical' or 'sturdy' would ever be found in Isolde Guerrin's dressing rooms.

"No," Eleanor said simply.

"Well, all right," Eirin agreed, with surprising obedience. She didn't meet her mother's eyes when she asked almost immediately, "So can I go with Fergus and Father to the Pavilion?"

_Ah, so that's it, is it? _Eleanor wondered when her sneaky daughter would try to find a way to swap the company of women and chatter for men with swords and horses.

The Teyrna sighed and extracted a few brassy coins from her purse. "_If,_" she stated carefully, "the shoes stay on, you may buy something for yourself and Fergus in the market." She leaned down, delivering the clinching argument. "I hear there's a very nice lady selling candied apples there."

With a grin as wide as the sun Eirin accepted the coins, pressing them to her chest. In a blue blur and scattering of dislodged hair pins Eirin shot out of the room, her mother shaking her head and finally allowing herself the laughter that had been pent up too long.

"Was that our daughter I saw just now, or a brocaded crossbow bolt?" Bryce Cousland wrapped his arms around his laughing wife, dropping a quick kiss into her dark hair.

"Both," Eleanor laughed, bringing her hand up to her husband's cheek. The two of them would have lingered if not for Fergus clearing his throat noisily outside the door. Shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, he urged his Father to hurry - the Lists were already being called and if they weren't quick they would miss a place. Bryce did manage a quick peck of his lips to his wife's before sighing heavily and collecting Fergus on his way out, promising to meet his wife in the stands later.

oOo

Eirin had found mud. She had also found the apple seller and had bought two shiny candied apples; one for herself and one for Fergus. She had also removed the ribbons from her hair and loosened her braids so that her mahogany hair hung in an unruly cloud around her face. Perching herself on a rock wall, Eirin kicked off the mud-caked satin slippers and busied herself with getting sticky in as short a time as possible. Bumping her heels against the wall, she crunched happily, watching the market.

The merchants had erected a huge tarpaulin in the village square. Under it a juggler had set himself up spinning wooden pins next to a woman selling colourful pinwheels and painted flags. An entire boar was being turned over an open spit by a couple of large sweating lads, next to a vendor carving hunks of cheese and thick slices of bread to serve to hungry customers.

Over there, some ladies were inspecting a length of material and on the other side, a bearded taverner the same size and shape of his barrels tapped warm golden ale into tankards.

The sun was warm on Eirin's back as she surveyed the crowds, happy to just watch. The day was just perfect – the sky was that perfect shade of pale summer blue and the air was filled with happy laughter, good-natured haggling, bartering and bantering and delicious smells. Fergus would win all his competitions and they would return to Highever having all had a wonderful time...

"Heyy! Give it back – that's mine!"

Eirin startled at the voice. There were four boys by the smithy behind her; three of them much larger and older than the one in the middle. The three larger boys were tossing an object in the air while the smallest of the quartet leapt at each throw, attempting – and failing miserably – to intercept the object midair.

The older boys laughed as Eirin watched quietly. She casually swung her legs over the wall to face them.

It wasn't long before the bigger boys tired of playing Nug-In-The-Middle and the last boy to have the object hurled it against the smithy wall.

"Maker curse you!" the little boy yelled. He bent down to pick up the pieces, muttering, "you great big steaming pile of bronto puke," which was a bad idea, because the lad who had thrown the object against the wall placed one muddy foot on the boy's backside and sent him sprawling.

There was a screech of rage and barely a second passed before the boy found the remains of a candied apple slammed into his face by a small, beribboned whirlwind.

A second boy tried to grab Eirin's arm, but she was too quick, jabbing a bony elbow into his midsection. He doubled over – and as his head went downwards, it met her fist going upwards, still carrying the apple, which was now mostly core and stick.

A pair arms came around Eirin from behind, smothering her in a wave of vile odour – a rank and greasy combination of sweat, stale wood smoke and, for some reason, sausages.

Eirin's feet flailed, her heel managing to catch her captor's shin.

"WHAT in the Maker's name is GOING ON here?"

The deep bellow came from a massive, bearded man, his teeth gleaming ivory through blackened lips curled in anger. Hugh the Smith took in the scene with a sweep of his smoke-reddened eyes: the three boys (one of them with a bloodied nose), the well-dressed young lady being manhandled…

Eirin lifted her chin and spoke haughtily. "These… these hooligans assaulted me and my little brother." Eirin threw a pointed look at the skinny boy sitting in the mud. "I demand the authorities take them away."

The smith's eyes narrowed at 'little brother'. There was something a bit odd about that - the lad was barely visible under the dirt and while not dressed in rags exactly, the child's clothing was clearly of a different quality than the…Eirin's offended glare did not waver as the smith noted her bare muddied feet. He had enough experience of Gentry to know that they were a strange lot.

"Yeah, well," he growled. He had better things to do and regardless of who was doing it, brawling outside his smithy was bad for business. "You lot can all clear off!" he barked, directing this at the largest of the group. Eirin expected the three boys to run, but instead they stepped up to the smith.

And threatened him. "There's three of us, and only one of you!" their leader sneered.

Hugh's eyes narrowed. "Oh?" he said and in a flash had clamped a mighty hand around the boy's ear, nearly lifting him off the ground. "And I know who you are and where your Pa lives, _Master _Petrie, and if he knew that you and your little band of thugs were goin' around harassing the gentry he'd have you strung up by your britches and whipped til you were a dozen shades of black and blue!"

He released the boy, who had instantly turned white-faced with terror. "Be off with you and don't let me catch you frightening away my customers again!" He didn't need to tell the trio twice – this time their feet skidded in the mud as they took off as fast as they could.

Hugh turned around, "Now Miss…eh?"

The girl and the skinny lad had disappeared. _Oh well, _he shrugged. _At least I don't have to deal with that bit of nonsense._

Eirin was running. Her first impulse while Petrie and his thugs had been distracted by the smith was to grab the little boy's hand and escape. The two of them dashed across the wooden bridge, skidding around the other side of the stream to the lake shore. Ducking under pylons the two of them splashed through the shallows, eventually emerging on the other side of the Fair.

Leaning her shoulder against the corner of a building, Eirin risked a peek. There was no pursuit. She sank to the ground, clutching at her stomach and lowering her head. When she finally looked up, her eyes were streaming.

Alarmed, the boy took a step backwards. If he got into trouble for making a girl cry…

"Did you…?" Eirin gasped, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "Did you _see _the look on their faces?" She wasn't crying, he realised. _She was laughing. Actually laughing._

Eirin looked up, the laughter subsiding to a giggle. The boy was staring open-mouthed at her, blinking in a mixture of awe and fear. "Are you all right?" she asked. He nodded.

Eirin stood, her mouth quirking in amusement as she surveyed her charge. He was an odd looking child; almost half a head shorter than herself with a mop of unruly pale blond hair above large amber eyes. He was thin, all arms and gangly legs and grimy, smelling a bit like… hay and dog and a bit of horse. To Eirin though it was the smell of familiar things; where she felt most at home, especially since she had had to leave Hound behind. If her Mabari had been here, the smith wouldn't have needed to intervene and the three boys would have been quivering, bloody piles of sorry by now.

The boy was looking down at the object in his hands now and the slumping of his bony shoulders made his dejection palpable. Eirin thought she could make out the shape of an arm and there was something like a head there. It was a doll of some kind, crudely fashioned into a shape only just resembling something bipedal.

The boy sighed. "I'm sorry about your… er…" Eirin began and stopped, helplessly.

"Golem," the boy said in a sad whisper. His bottom lip curled downwards. "It's a – _was _-a golem doll. Statuette." he corrected himself.

"It can be fixed though, can't it?" Eirin asked, watching the lad attempt to reattach the arm. "You can ask your father or-" The boy's hand clenched and he muttered something under his breath. Eirin leant in closer. "Sorry, what?"

The look that the boy granted Eirin was fierce. "I don't have a father."

_Don't be silly, everyone has a father,_ Eirin was about to say, but didn't. The fierceness was nothing more than a shield. Eirin was young, but she had been brought up to consider the feelings of others. It was part of the responsibility of being a Cousland and there was something about the lad's demeanour that made her want to protect him. So she bit her lip and placed a hand on his shoulder instead.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

The change in his expression was instant; with his eyes wide as saucers he looked ridiculously like her Mabari did whenever the word 'bone' was mentioned. Eirin took this as a good sign. Taking his hand again, she led him towards the merchants' stalls.

Eirin handed over the last of her coin for a couple of slabs of cheese on trenchers. The two of them sat cross-legged on a nearby grassy tuffet, munching away at the thick hunks of bread and grinning at each other as crumbs littered their laps and their cheeks turned pink in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Distantly, the muted sounds of thundering hooves and the roars of a cheering crowd could now be heard over the bustle of the market nearby. Eirin had no idea when Fergus would be competing. She had been looking forward to seeing him in the Melee and wondered vaguely whether he would have been given an opportunity to try his hand at a joust or two. He had certainly brought enough equipment for several jousts.

"Why are you sighing?" the boy asked, jolting Eirin out of her thoughts. "By the way, this is good cheese. Redcliffe Red, did you know? It's a regional spec... specee… specefull… we're famous for it."

"You like cheese?" Eirin grinned.

"Cheese makes everything better," the boy grinned back. "So… why were you sighing? And why don't you have any shoes?"

"Well, you don't either!" Eirin pointed out.

"The dogs ate mine," the boy told her.

"Oh. Okay," Eirin said, nodding her head.

She could believe that. Hound ate all sorts of things, or at least attempted to. Sometimes he very helpfully showed her what he had been attempting to eat by leaving the mangled remains of it on her bed.

"My brother's competing in the tournament," Eirin explained, then launched into a detailed description of the trip from Highever. She told him about how she had had to leave Hound at home – then switched over to a description of the armour Fergus was wearing today, then began telling him the story about the very unfortunate Ser Brydon that Fergus had told her yesterday. Was it yesterday? She wasn't too sure. Perhaps it was the day before? No, it was definitely yesterday.

The boy goggled at his confused but determined storyteller, his head spinning as he desperately tried to follow her twisting, circuitous lines of thought. It was almost impossible.

There was a commotion on the other side of the market, but Eirin appeared oblivious. She had moved on from the number of Mabari puppies born last month to telling him about pirates and the supposedly secret passages that led to hidden caves beneath the castle.

So immersed in her storytelling was she that she didn't notice the small crowd of adults storming towards then until an angry female voice finally growled "_I should have known!"_

Rough hands seized the boy from beside Eirin. "Hey! Put me down!" "Put him down!" the two of them exclaimed at the same time.

Eirin sprang to her feet and drew herself to her full imposing height of four feet five inches. Mentally summoning the ghosts of every armed Cousland ancestress that ever existed to her back, she spat "I demand that you unhand this boy at once!"

The woman who had spoken was beautiful, with a perfectly oval face and porcelain skin. Her dress looked expensive but was understated and elegant, but her hair was pulled a little too tightly back – not a single strand was out of place and her expression was both sour and contemptuous. Though her eyes were the most beautiful shade of chocolate Eirin had seen, they were cold and unfriendly as they swept a withering gaze over the outspoken child.

The smith may have been fooled, but this woman was not so easily taken in. She spared Eirin half a sniff of acknowledgement, before picking up her skirts and turning away wordlessly. The servant that had accompanied her had the boy by the collar of his shirt, half-dragging him through the dirt. The boy was trying to fight back, digging in his heels. But it was a half-hearted attempt; for appearances only - he knew he was being watched, but clearly knew that if he fought for real, then there would be _real_ trouble.

The woman ignored Eirin, ignored the annoying, bedraggled little girl tugging at her sleeve, pushing her roughly away while punctuating their progress with an accented tirade about every fault and wrong the boy had allegedly committed against her.

"And do not think I have not heard what you have been up to. Your behaviour is that of an animal; less than an animal. No more - but what can one expect from… from…" Her lip curled in disgust as though the sight of the poor boy made her physically ill.

"Eirin!" Eirin turned, her eyes lighting up at sight of the familiar armoured figure.

"Fergus!" Eirin ran to him, practically leaping at her brother. "Fergus, you have to-"

"Can you believe it? I was knocked off my horse," Fergus spoke with great glee. "Twice! Maker's breath, I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Took a mace to the shoulder, but I managed to stay upright once I was back on my feet."

It was impossible to speak in the face of Fergus' conversational tsunami. Then when Eirin chanced a look over her shoulder the woman, servant and boy were gone.

"You were watching, weren't you?" Fergus asked her eagerly. She managed a noncommittal nod. "Well, this deserves a celebration of some sort – I may not have won, but my legs and arms are intact and my head is still attached. You can't say that's a bad outcome, eh? What?" He looked down at her, excitement abating a little. "What's wrong? You look like your Mabari just died. Come on, I know what'll cheer you up."

Eirin gave in. The little group might as well have vanished into the Fade for all that she knew. She wanted to run after them, try to find them, but where? She had no idea which direction they had gone. The village was big and sprawling and there was no reason that she would even find them. If they had gone to Redcliffe Castle…

"Eirin?" Fergus' voice brought her back to the present. "Are you unwell? Have you been out in the sun too long? I know, I'll fetch us some ale-"

"You're not allowed to have ale. And neither am I." Eirin told him dully.

"Well something to drink, anyway. I've the thirst of an ox! Come on, this way."

Fergus gave her arm a tug and Eirin began to follow, then..."Wait!" She trotted back to the rail fence. Still lying in the long grass were the pieces of the golem doll. She made sure to gather up every piece before rejoining Fergus, casting one last look over her shoulder at the space where they had been.

She hadn't even asked his name.

oOo

The Couslands returned to Highever. Eirin carefully glued the pieces of the golem doll back together. It had the shape of a medallion carved into its chest and from the number of indentations on the shoulders many of the jewels had fallen off. Some time ago, judging by the amount of dirt embedded in the empty holes. Once the glue was completely dry Eirin wrapped the doll in a piece of soft cloth and put it in a safe place for the next year. They would return to Redcliffe – Fergus would complete in the tournament again and Eirin would find the little boy and return it to him...maybe even remember to ask him his name.

But the next year the Couslands didn't go to Redcliffe. Fergus broke his arm and it was as good an excuse as any to remain at home. In any case he was more interested in the Tourneys held in Highever, which were larger and attracted a more varied group of opponents to try his skills against.

And another year passed, bringing with it success for Fergus, finally. There were new squires to mock, her very first shortbow, mother finally relenting and allowing her to take fencing lessons. Before Eirin knew it, another year had passed. Time flowed on its natural course, sweeping them along as her memory of the Little Golem Boy – as Eirin called him for lack of any better name really – became consumed detail by detail by the fog of childhood.

She had dreamed of him, a few times. In those dreams she had fought the woman and her servant – transformed into dragon-like monsters. In those dreams she had slain them and rescued the boy but always, always just as he was about to tell her his name she would wake up. Sometimes in the dreams they would fight together, side by side until all their enemies were vanquished and all of Ferelden would bow before them, toasting their long lives with warm milk and slabs of cheese.

Eventually even those dreams faded and changed with time. The little blond boy who fought beside her became flame-haired and the amber eyes which had twinkled with mischief and promises of fun turned into the colour of soft moss...

And inevitably, Eirin changed too, growing taller and more skilled with bow and sword. She wasn't as strong as the men she trained with, but she was quick and agile and she could read her opponent's moves, sometimes before they even thought of them themselves. She argued less frequently when her mother insisted she wear a dress and while she enjoyed a furious sparring in the practice courtyard, she was just as happy to sit and watch a certain red-haired knight-in-training do the same.

When people spoke of her, they called her 'beautiful' and 'graceful', and Eirin would laugh and tell them to direct their admiration at her mother instead for she was the true beauty.

Then odd rumours began finding their way to Highever; of strange creatures seen in the south. Of villages being burned - and folk who had managed to flee those areas spoke of walking terrors that cared for nothing but destruction. _Darkspawn,_ they were called and people shuddered and crossed themselves, muttering _Maker protect us all._ Grey Wardens were more frequently seen out and about, gathering information and some said _recruiting._

Fears of a Blight became more real when the King's call for troops were received by the Teyrn. Fergus and a Highever contingent were to go, along with father soon after. As her concerns shifted elsewhere, The Little Golem Boy became nothing more than a mere wisp of thought, buried in amongst every other childhood memory left behind.


	3. Chapter 2 Grey Warden

I apologise if this chapter seems a bit slow going. I did want to get right into meeting Alistair as quickly as possible, but it just felt like my fem human noble wasn't spending enough quality time with Duncan (I just love his voice – like a lovely warm, fluffy jumper for the ears). They still don't speak much in this chapter, but Duncan and his ponytail get a little bit more screen time here. It flummoxed me to hear his voice in the epilogue (huh? But Duncan's _dead!_). One day I might write a conspiracy theory DA:O story in which Duncan's death was faked and he becomes a wandering bard, telling stories and fighting the bad guys. Unless someone else writes it first.

Also sorry if some of the game dialogue isn't right; most of it is from memory especially the scene with King Cailan… and I hadn't made a save point before the meeting so I could go back to it to check. Oh well…

Bioware owns everything – but you know that.

**Chapter 2 – Grey Warden**

Eirin lay curled against her Mabari's side in the patched tent, one arm thrown over his neck, the other supporting her head. The Grey Warden had suggested she try and get some sleep, but it was easier said than done. It was easier to focus on Dog's hoarse breathing, to count the water droplets dripping through an unpatched hole.

The rain had stopped. That was something, even if the bad weather had aided their escape by covering their tracks. The dismal grey skies had echoed Eirin's mood but the dampness had made travel uncomfortable to say the least. The cold seemed to have seeped permanently into her bones and she was exhausted, but sleep brought with it problems of its own and visions Eirin would rather not revisit. She had tried to avoid slumber with mixed success and the lack of it was beginning to take its toll.

The previous day they had travelled in a downpour that had made their surroundings nigh invisible. Duncan's sense of direction was uncanny, finding a likely campsite after dark when the rain was at its heaviest. There were many miles between here (wherever here was – she had lost track somewhere near Lothering) and home. Except it wasn't her home any more.

_Yes it is, blast it. Just because some treacherous, lying bastard has tried to take it doesn't mean it no longer belongs to us._

Dog lifted his head, pressing his nose against her forehead with a soft whine. Eirin realised she had been twisting his fur in her fist. "Sorry, boy," she said, giving his neck a soothing rub and sitting up. Her head felt like a rock on her shoulders, her eyes puffy and stinging with lack of sleep. She ached all over, but it was nothing like the ache around her heart that no amount of rest or stretching could ease.

She hadn't cried. She wouldn't cry. She was a Cousland and her mother and father hadn't given their lives for her so she could fester in her grief and wail like a pathetic child, bemoaning her fate and cursing the Maker.

Still, guilt had twisted her gut into an un-bindable knot; she could have stayed; she _should_ have stayed – and helped her mother defend… what? The sensible, practical side of her demanded. The larder? They would have been trapped in a cramped space with no room to fight, no room to defend themselves, with Howe's well-armed soldiers swarming the domestic quarters. There was plenty of firewood in the kitchen – they would simply have been burned out.

And there would have been no one to tell Fergus he was the new Teyrn and that his mother, father, wife and young son had been slain for no other reason than cold greed and ambition.

Eirin pushed herself to her feet, using Dog as a brace. Her head pounded with the effort, but she had to be up and about. Duncan had already packed his gear into his shoulder pack and was standing near, a thoughtful look on his quiet, bearded face. His expression lightened slightly when Eirin emerged. She knew she looked awful. Her hair felt greasy and she had slept in wet gear last night, too exhausted to remove her clothes. Everything was caked in mud and she didn't even want to think about how much she smelled.

"Good morning Lady Eirin." Duncan's voice appeared incongruous in the clear air of the morning. "I know you must be tired, but we must press on to Ostagar today."

Eirin nodded, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. When she opened them, it was to find the Grey Warden presenting her with a small wrapped package and a water skin.

"Eat something first," he told her kindly. "You'll need your strength."

Eirin nodded again and accepted the package. It was the same salted meat from the day before but she tore hungrily into it, belatedly remembering that Dog was probably hungry too. She leant down to him, wrapping her arm around his neck.

"Sorry again, boy. Do you think you might find a rabbit today?" Dog leaned into her embrace, planting his cold wet nose square into her shoulder and snorting. _I'll forgive you this time._

In the background Duncan was packing up her tent. Eirin knew she should help, or better yet, pack it up herself, but it was a struggle just to put one foot ahead of the other. She knew she hadn't been the most interesting of travel companions. She had barely spoken five words to the Warden since they had fled from Castle Cousland. She felt she should at least attempt some kind of polite conversation, but there was little Eirin could find to discuss and Duncan kept a distance between them out of deference to her station.

The Grey Warden had been kindness itself. It was difficult at first reconciling the man with the warrior. Grey Wardens had their reputation; they were mysterious and unfailing in their dedication to the defeat of the darkspawn. They accepted anyone into their ranks as long as they could fight, even if those individuals were of dubious character or background.

Ser Gilmore hadn't minded. Grey Wardens were the golden warriors of old: men and women who left their lives behind to embrace a glorious destiny. They were true heroes and Eirin was happy to listen to his tales, enjoying the way his eyes sparkled, letting his voice wash over her in a warm pleasant wave. The way Rory told the stories was _much more _interesting than the parched deliveries of Brother Aldous that had left her yawning and thirsty for escape from the study.

Rory had been so hopeful of being chosen to enter the ranks of the Grey Wardens himself – hadn't a young initiate from the Highever Chantry been chosen last year, ahead of more experienced and skilled prospects? Not that being a Templar was not noble in its own way, but a _Grey Warden; _that would really be something!

He had been so handsomely enthusiastic; Eirin hadn't had the heart to tell him that it was herself whom Duncan had mentioned as a likely candidate, not him.

Poor, dear Rory. The last time she had seen him he had had his back to her, his shoulder rammed up against the castle hall gates, attempting along with the remaining Cousland guardsmen to hold the last of the castle's defences, if only by strength of sheer will.

She hadn't even had time to speak to him; everything had been so…rushed.

Eirin realised Duncan was speaking and she blinked, forcing her attention back to his words. He was telling her about Ostagar and the Grey Wardens. And she blinked again to realize that without noticing during her reverie, the two of them had actually come in view of a ruin of some kind...if Ostagar could be called that.

It was like a great fossil of a city; bleached bones of crumbling spires and shattered domes slowly succumbing to the decay of time and wearing of the elements. Despite the passing of the ages, Ostagar still clung to the shredded remains of its magnificence – towering arches and buttressed towers still stood amongst the forest that had reclaimed this area many years ago, hinting that in ages past builders of fortresses cared for aesthetics as well strategic defence.

Some of the forest had been cleared and makeshift barricades and observation platforms had been erected. Ahead of them the stone bridge across the deep valley was still intact - their approach had been noted and a group of armoured men could be seen coming towards them. The man in the lead was familiar. "Your majesty!" Duncan murmured in surprise. "I wasn't expecting-"

"A royal welcome?" King Cailan was all smiles, as though greeting a close friend.

Eirin had met the king previously. She had attended his coronation, and his wedding, as was expected of the daughter of the second highest ranking noble in Ferelden. Still, given the difference in their ages and her mother's protective nature, she had never really had much to do with him and Eirin really only knew him by reputation. He was allegedly very charming, but Eirin had treasonously always thought he had stupid hair. She really didn't understand why young men had to wear it like _that._

"…a promising recruit. I take it this is she?" the king was looking directly at her. Eirin simply stared. He seemed to be having trouble recognising her – was she in _that _bad a shape? She was certainly tired enough not to be thinking particularly straight, if all she could focus on were the braids in his hair and those…were they? They _were_. Beads! He actually had beads in his hair. "No need for introductions," he said finally, recognition finally blooming on his face. "You're Bryce's youngest. Allow me to extend my regards to your father."

Eirin frowned, her hands flexing by her sides, _itching_ to reach up and tear the beads from the king's hair. Struggling to focus through her exhaustion, she blinked furiously again. He had spoken as though her father and mother were still alive. "Then Your Majesty hasn't heard?" she managed. _Of course he hasn't, you dolt!,_ she berated herself mentally. _It's not as though Rendon Howe took out an advertisement to inform the rest of Ferelden he was going to betray his best friend and steal his lands. That's why you're _here_. To tell people who are in a position to do something about it..._

Thankfully, Duncan stepped in, moving forward slightly – an oddly protective gesture that took Eirin aback slightly, but which she appreciated. "I'm afraid Arl Howe has shown his true colours."

In her foggy state of mind, Eirin focused on Duncan's little ponytail. _Not braids, thank the Maker. A simple, single ponytail. No ribbons, no _beads, _no glittery things, just neat and manly. I like it_.

The king appeared to be genuinely shocked at the news of the events at Cousland Castle, promising to march north to deal with Howe promptly once his armies had finished here. The conversation moved swiftly on to the darkspawn and the upcoming battle with them. He sounded confident of a victory. No, no signs of an archdemon. He wasn't too sure whether this was a true blight, even. Eirin watched Duncan's face during this exchange. He revealed very little, keeping his stance respectful and expression blank.

The mention of Fergus' name jolted Eirin out of her study of the Grey Warden. The king was talking to her again – Fergus and the Highever soldiers were currently patrolling the Korcari Wilds and were not expected back until after the battle, which seemed odd to Eirin. She would have thought that as many soldiers as possible would be needed for the upcoming battle. Why send that cohort out on patrol when they could fight? Was the king even taking this seriously? And no, Fergus couldn't be recalled – the king completely misunderstood - telling her that she would have to satisfy herself by taking her anger out on the darkspawn for now. There was no way around it; Eirin would just have to wait until after this battle.

The king excused himself, complaining about needing to be confer once again with his general...leaving Eirin thoroughly baffled and more than a little annoyed.

"He seems confident..." she frowned after the departing royal party. What she really wanted to say involved the word 'idiot' and probably wouldn't have been particularly diplomatic, given that it was about _the king_ – and she had no idea how Duncan would have taken such criticism. Grey Wardens were under no obligation to do anything the king commanded, but it was only fairly recently that the wardens had even been allowed back in Ferelden. If the present king were to decide he had any reason to eject them again, it wouldn't be from something happening on Duncan's watch. Eirin decided to keep her more 'strongly worded' thoughts to herself.

Beside her Duncan sighed. "As the king he needs to appear confident to his men, but we cannot delay. We must perform the Joining as soon as possible."

"Joining?" Eirin smothered a yawn behind a fist. Duncan had mentioned the ritual by which one became a Grey Warden whilst on their journey here. No details, just that it needed to be done. "How about a hot meal and a bath first?" she asked, not particularly hopeful of either. This was a _battle ground_ after all, not a tea house. "Or is that asking too much…?"

Duncan chuckled with genuine amusement. "You're free to explore the camp as you wish," he told her. "All I ask is that you do not leave for the moment." Eirin swallowed hysterical laughter – as if she would _leave_. Wandering muzzy-headed and tired by herself in an unfamiliar area, with darkspawn around? She might as well take a running leap off the bridge. Her chances of survival might even be better if she did that. Eirin gave her head a shake. She was feeling light headed and _stupid._

"When you are ready, seek out the Grey Warden called Alistair. He will assist you with what you need." He glanced down at Dog and added, "Your mabari may stay with me."

Dog gave a short bark, his wagging stump of a tail making his whole rear end wiggle with happiness. Eirin was vaguely insulted - since when did her mabari become so chummy with Duncan? But Duncan had excused himself now, needing to attend to _Warden business_ elsewhere in camp and Dog followed him across the bridge without so much as a backwards glance.

She was really too tired to explore the camp. If she hadn't been so muscle-achingly, stiff-leggedly, barely-holding-her-own-head-up exhausted she would be poking around in the ruins like an excited child hoping to find buried treasure amongst the overgrown, crumbling city walls. Instead she just wanted to find some place where she could collapse and not move for several hours. The bridge seemed to stretch for miles and Eirin wished she had been quicker to follow Duncan. Begging the Grey Warden to give her a piggy-back to camp would have been out of the question, but she could have used Dog as a crutch – or had the poor animal had enough of unrequited loyalty for the while?

_Right. The sooner I find this other Grey Warden, the better._ What was his name again? Eirin's exhaustion-fuddled memory failed her. It had been something beginning with 'L'. Or had it been 'R'?

A very friendly guard at the other end of the bridge greeted her and offered her directions. It appeared that the majority of the Grey Wardens were camped in the valley below with the other soldiers but the Warden recruits seemed to have been quartered within the city ruins. So she wasn't the only recruit - that was somehow comforting. Mages were also stationed up here, along with some sisters from the chantry. He mentioned a provisioner (with an ill-disguised look _away _from the filthy leathers she wore) and pointed out where she was likely to find the king and General Loghain's tents - as though she may want to stroll over there for a cup of tea and a bit of a chat later.

Right, and she'll bring the petit fours. _Uhr, _she gave a mental moan_… I really am _stupidly _tired. _Eirin pinched the bridge of her nose. The guard's directions were tending to merge into each other and she was getting a headache, so she interrupted him and asked him about the Grey Warden Duncan had mentioned. He made a choking noise, saying "Oh _him. _If you follow the trail of angry people, you'll find him, all right." When Eirin simply stared at him he sighed and jerked his thumb over his right shoulder. "Or failing that, you might find him up at the old temple. I think he was hunting down a mage on behalf of the Revered Mother. Hah! If that doesn't get him turned into a toad, I dunno what will."

As she moved off, the guard cheerfully wished her good luck and she wondered tiredly whether she would really need it. His warning made her feel even more tense than she already was. She really didn't want to have to deal with some trouble-making upstart but she had no choice. She was hungry, and the thought that somewhere in this camp there might be a pail of water, a washcloth and some _soap_ urged her in the direction the guard had pointed.

It was easy enough to find the ruined temple. The Tevinters certainly knew how to build religious… stuff and make it look like it was supposed to be devoted to religion. She stumbled up the long ramp into the building itself, her legs protesting. Once she was there she leant against the stone entry, rubbing her thighs with the palms of her hands. The muscles in her legs cramped painfully.

Eirin peered into what at first appeared to be empty space beyond, until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. At one end a couple of servants were tidying up around a long trestle. At the other end - Eirin's heart sank – was another paved ramp and she just _knew _that was the direction that she had to go.

_Well, let's just get this over with._ Her stomach rumbled as a second reminder to get going. As she approached the ramp, she could hear a voice, raised in anger. _Well, it seems I found the trail of angry folk the guard was talking about._ She stopped at the bottom of the ramp, contemplating her ability to climb it and not liking the odds. She looked up to see that the angry voice belonged to a mage. A very angry mage. She couldn't quite make out the person the mage was yelling at as he was standing in shadow, but as she watched the mage growled, "Very well, I will speak to the woman if I must – get out of my way, fool!"

The mage deliberately slammed his shoulder into the other man, bouncing off a mail-clad arm and doing little damage except causing the – young man, was it? – to sway just the tiniest bit. Scowling, the mage continued, surreptitiously rubbing his arm, his face twisting into an angry sneer when he realised Eirin had been standing at the bottom of the ramp. Eirin politely cast her gaze downwards until the mage had walked past.

"You know," a voice said close by, "one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Eirin raised her eyes and sighed in relief. The speaker had come _down _the ramp, eliminating the necessity for her to go _up_ it. He was standing in better light as well and his proximity gave Eirin the opportunity to take a good look at this strange individual. He was looking at her now in a mixture of apprehension and expectation. She realised belatedly that she was probably required to make some kind of response and her continuing silence was making him nervous.

"Sorry, what?" was all she could manage.

"Oh nothing, just trying to find a bright side to all of this," he said self-deprecatingly. Eirin's head felt like it was spinning. _Is there supposed to be a bright side to this?_ she wondered. "Waaait, we haven't met, have we?" he drawled, and caught himself mid-thought. "Wait, I know who you are, you're the new recruit from Highever Duncan mentioned. I should have recognised you right away, I apologise. He spoke very highly of you. I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden – and as the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when… Uh… have I said something weird?"

Eirin had doubled over, laughing – too tired to care why she had chosen this moment to do so. It wasn't as if she was finding anything funny to laugh _at. _She was just so incredibly, needlessly _exhausted._ Laughing just seemed to come naturally. It was something to do to keep her from falling over from fatigue.

"You know, I'm told I have this effect on women, but this is the first time I've experienced it first hand. I'm thinking of joining a travelling troupe of Players after this is all over. What do you think?"

Hands braced on her knees, Eirin looked up and froze. He was smiling, just smiling – but there was something about that smile that prodded a long forgotten memory in the dusty attic of her mind.

Eirin straightened. After a long moment, she extended her hand. "I'm Eirin" she said.

_He's taller, half a head taller. No, that can't be right, his hair is darker._ But the eyes, it was his eyes that held her attention. They were a clear amber – unusual enough as most native Fereldens' eyes were blue, green or variations of the two – but they were a colour that she had seen before, many years ago, on a clear day at a Redcliffe Tournament…


	4. Chapter 3 The Gift of Gift Giving

This chapter was originally an add-on to an existing chapter set way later in the storyline which didn't feel quite right. After a 'bit' of tweaking I realised what used to be an introduction had become another chapter. Oh well.

I really, really, really also wanted to do something about the whole approval system thing. Dog and Alistair are the only characters in the game that give your PC stuff (the small child in Denerim that Dog found, being the most bizarre), even though you really make quite an effort finding rare items for everyone else. No fair! Anyhoo, here 'tis…

Usual disclaimer of ownership by Bioware applies

oOo

**Chapter 3 – The Gift of Gift Giving**

It was difficult not to watch the man, even more difficult trying not to watch him while other people were watching her not watching him and attempting to convince those people trying to catch her out watching him that she was just going about her business, thank you – nothing to see here, move along, oh look what a pretty butterfly; you don't see one that good every day…

At first it had been because of that long-tucked-away memory. It had really niggled at Eirin, surfacing at odd moments of the day (and night). That first impression Eirin had had of him in the Ostagar ruin had stubbornly persisted and she had taken to watching Alistair closely, trying to see signs of the Redcliffe boy from her memory in the grey warden of today. The conclusion she had come to in the time between the Korcari Wilds and Lothering was that he was not the same person _at all_.

Those clear amber eyes that she thought so unusual, so distinctive at first now seemed to appear _every_where. Daveth had had eyes of a similar colour – and so had half a dozen other soldiers Eirin had encountered. It was like getting a new pony and while riding it to the village to show it off to one's friends, suddenly it seemed like everyone else had the same colour and type of mount.

Those eyes had been the connection to the Redcliffe memory, the thing that had stood out besides that goofy, cheesy grin. The Alistair she was beginning to know was a quiet, grim young man, completely lost in mourning for an old mentor, angry at betrayal and critical of anyone that didn't quite fit his ideal of 'decent, upright folk.'

It was actually quite…appealing. The tragic handsome hero - and after a while Eirin caught herself looking at Alistair and not thinking of that little boy at all, but of other things...things rather beyond the ken of the innocent minds of little boys.

Honestly, wasn't she too old for this sort of thing? It wasn't as if she was some impressionable teenager. The thought that she might be _ogling_ her fellow grey warden was distinctly uncomfortable. They had fought darkspawn together, had almost died together. It was _inappropriate._ He was her brother in arms, nothing more. Developing anything more than respect for his skills in battle would make things complicated. With the immense duty that lay before them, neither of them could afford further complications.

It wasn't like the huge crush that she had had on Roland Gilmore as a young adult. Yes, she really had enjoyed watching Rory, but at times she had found herself criticising his stance. _You need to charge in more aggressively, for Andraste's sake!_ _Don't just wave it around – stick it in something! _Then Ser Gilmore's fighting skills improved and the first time he gave her a sound thrashing he'd turned as red as his hair and Eirin thought herself in love. In hindsight what she had felt was more like a gentle sigh than this raging gnawing feeling that left her quite frequently breathless and dizzy. Of course these feelings could be the result of the Joining. Mere side-effects caused by imbibing darkspawn blood – and wouldn't _that_ make anyone feel a bit odd afterwards?

Eirin had tried to think of Roland and had been surprised at how difficult that was. She did remember that he had been beautiful to look at and he was wonderful to be around. The young knight was funny and sweet and enthusiastic, like a mabari puppy. She just wanted to pick him up and give him a great big cuddle.

_This is…_ Eirin ducked her head, _not watching _Alistair and trying to think – and failing miserably - as he helped the merchant load his wares onto the repaired cart. Alistair had been fascinated by the tiny pony the merchant had hitched to his cart. It was _dwarf-_sized. Alistair had fed the diminutive animal an apple he had picked up somewhere (no mean feat, considering the shortage of food in the area), his face lighting up as the pony nibbled the apple from his palm. He had looked over at her, a wide grin on his boyish face and Eirin suddenly had had the urge to stick her head in a rain barrel.

"He is handsome, yes?"

The lay sister was _not _helping. Leliana sat beside Eirin in the shade of the wide stone pillar, cocking her head this way and that, getting a better view of her target.

"No" Eirin tried to say as casually as she could, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears. She cleared her throat and added, "Some women might find that kind of look attractive. As for me…" _I think he's perfect._ "He's just not my type."

"And what is your 'type'?" Leliana asked, propping her chin in her hand. The young redhead was facing Alistair and the merchants, but she knew that the summer blue eyes were focused on _her_. Eirin winced, feeling her entire body tense up – Alistair had just bent over to pick up a crate, _damn him!_ "Oh, you know…" Eirin waved a hand vaguely in the air wracking her brain for a memory of a man to describe, any man either in her near or distant past. Anyone who didn't have broad shoulders and long legs and sun-kissed caramel coloured hair or eyes like warm honey...She was hungry; that would explain the food-related similes and the sudden burning feeling that rose upwards from her stomach – and her ears were _not _sizzling like a couple of bronto steaks on a hot plate.

"Thin," Eirin blurted out. "Scholarly types. With beards. Really bushy beards. If they're a bit stoop-shouldered, all the better." _And if you believe that, then you'll also believe that I have tea and macaroons regularly with the Maker. Every Tuesday._ Considering the story that the lay sister had given them for joining their party – 'The Maker spoke to me' - Eirin thought that quite possible.

Eirin carefully and deliberately did not look at Leliana when she stood up. Slapping dirt from her legs, she resolutely turned her back on the activity near by and looked over the wall to the row of makeshift tents on the other side. She hated to leave Lothering like this, but they really had no choice. Alistair had explained about the dreams and what they meant. All grey wardens had them – and it was worse during a Blight. The sooner the two them – _five of them now_ – exercised those treaties and rebuilt an army, the better.

The local Bann leaving his people unprotected like this made Eirin white hot with anger. It was his duty to protect his people and his lands. The land south of the Dane River was nothing like the beloved, well-tended Banns of Highever. Her father would never have allowed his people to suffer like this. _But one of the best men that ever lived is no more,_ she reminded herself ruthlessly and she had a duty now to try and give these people hope, even if it was but a glimmer of it.

There were a handful of Templars left in Lothering and the Chantry were doing the best they could with what few resources came to hand, but if the king's army couldn't stop the darkspawn, then what hope had these people? Worse, those who cared little for the plight of others and instead sought to exploit the vulnerable had moved in. Eirin had taken great satisfaction in ridding the place of such people. There were now at least half a dozen villains less in Ferelden and Eirin was looking forward to getting rid of more.

The last couple of weeks had been quite an education; the protective wadding of her privileged upbringing slowly shredding away. It wasn't as if Eirin had never seen suffering before…just not on such a scale as this. She would be happy if she never saw this again. With a sigh she told herself that she would see more – and worse.

"Right, Bodahn is all loaded up and ready to go."

Eirin squeaked like a startled mouse. How did such a big man as Alistair sneak up on her like that? While wearing rattling splint-mail too?

Eirin placed her hand over her heart – it was beating way too fast, he must _really _have startled her – and looked over her shoulder at him, finding him closer than she expected. She gaped at him wordlessly, until Leliana swam into view, a knowing look on her pale face that made Eirin want to march over there and tell the woman, _right, I've changed my mind, you can stay here after all._ Except that Alistair thought it was a good idea that Leliana join their party. 'Princess Stabbity', as he had dubbed her, had already shown her skills as a fighter - and although the lay sister seemed at first an archdemon short of a blight, Eirin was confident that her heart and intentions were genuine.

Having a crowd around seemed to make Alistair feel better and the extra bodies provided a foil for the one person that he _didn't_ want in their party - and how could Eirin explain to Alistair that she actually _liked _the witch? Yes, Morrigan was acidic and critical and made her dislike for Alistair clear at every opportunity. Despite the sarcasm and contempt Eirin actually found the woman quite entertaining…in a weird 'ha ha ha, she didn't just say what I thought she just said, and why does she speak like she's a hundred years old? Isn't that amusing? No? Oh well'…way. If only she would wear a bit more…clothing. Eirin wondered in almost endless fascination whether the woman had skin of iron – truly she was going to catch her death if she wandered around Ferelden in nothing more than a few feathers and strategically draped strips of cloth.

But…Eirin hadn't wanted to disappoint Alistair, especially after he had given her puppy dog eyes and done that ridiculous impersonation so she had relented and had told Leliana, "The more the merrier!" _Welcome aboard the doomed Royal Ship Blight_.

And…there was the Qunari.

One day she would have to sit Alistair down and have a long talk about this recruiting drive of his. There was no doubt the giant man would be a valuable asset. He had killed an entire family bare-handed. That took a lot of strength - his glare alone could wither grown trees. But it said a lot about how much Alistair disliked Morrigan if he was willing to choose a mass murderer over a simple marsh witch.

"Apostates" Alistair had growled. "Maleficars. They're dangerous people." Compared with what, Eirin wondered? Mad lay sisters who claimed to have direct communication with a god or inscrutable butchers of innocents? _Uh-huh. Once a Templar, _always_ a Templar, final vows or no._

The score to date was one recruitment to her, two to Alistair which meant Eirin needed to do some catching up. Maybe she could find an assassin or two – or a possessed ferret…?

"I don't like leaving them either," Alistair told Eirin sympathetically, misreading her continued silence. She had been staring at the refugee camp all this time and he couldn't have known that she had moved on to think of other things.

"We'll just have to trust their care to the Templars," Alistair sighed, casting his gaze over the mess of the field beyond and the misery that lay there. "And the Maker."

Eirin nodded, then suddenly remembered something. She patted her pockets "Oh, before I forget again…Now where…? Here." She held up a small figurine, carved out of amber. It had been a thank you gift from the dwarf merchant, Bodahn for rescuing him and his son from some straggling darkspawn just outside Lothering. "Would you like it?"

Alistair took the figurine from her palm, the look of surprise rapidly replaced with one of pure delight. "For me?" his eyes, the same colour of the figurine – except unlike the carving they were a clear, unblemished colour – sparkled at her. "Really? You know, I could get to _like_ this." Eirin felt rather pleased with herself, even though she knew she didn't really have a right to. It had been pure chance that Bodahn had chosen this particular item to gift to her and she had no use for it and nor did Morrigan and she had only known the other two for a couple of hours so...

"No one's ever given me anything like this before," Alistair admitted artlessly, provoking an idiotic giggle by Eirin. She caught herself, forcing her voice to seem light and casual, because she did this sort of thing every day. "Well, you know you've been through a lot and I just thought that-"

"Do you intend to waste precious travel hours by gaping at each other like two asphyxiating piscines?" They turned to find the others had gathered by Bodahn's cart. Morrigan glared, Sten glared, but Leliana and Dog were both smiling. "The morning will not last forever and unlike you, I am keen to leave this wretched morass of pathetic misery behind."

Alistair threw a sour look at Morrigan. "Must she be so abrasive and rude? It's not always about her, does she realise?"

Eirin however, was both impressed by Morrigan's speech and grateful for the interruption. It was a timely reminder that they had work to do. Being in close company with Alistair was beginning to affect her ability to look and act like a responsible grown up. It was best that they moved on.

As she passed Leliana, the other woman looked far too smug for Eirin's comfort and she made a mental note to begin hunting around for gifts for the others; something shiny that she could give to Morrigan, perhaps? And she would make an effort to get to know the lay sister and Qunari to find out what they might like. There was no reason, after all, for the others to think she was giving Alistair _special_ treatment.

oOo

"Here, look at this, do you know what this is?"

Eirin was covered head to toe in grime and dirt and darkspawn ichor. She smelled bad, she knew she _looked _bad and she wanted nothing more than to plunge into the nearest watering hole and stay there until everything had washed away, never mind how cold the water was at this time of the year. Oh to rid herself of this caked on…_bleargh._ She looked at Alistair's shiny, hopeful face and wondered at his timing.

She had been too busy making sure everyone else had settled into camp, handing out bandages and poultices and erecting tents, and had not had the time to perform less important things like scrape off bits of Hurlock from her armour and the smeared contents of an ogre's intestines from the bottom of her boots. And she was tired and sore. She knew this because every muscle in her body was screaming the fact of it to her.

Alistair chewed on his bottom lip, waiting. Eirin kicked herself mentally; _he's asking me a question. That usually requires some kind of response doesn't it?_

Eirin stared at the object in his hands; it was a single rose, blood-red in colour, its perfectly formed petals shimmering with an odd, inner light that was just visible in the glow of the campfire. She knew Bodahn's son Sandal had a talent for enchantment and she wondered whether Alistair had had the lad do something with the rose to make it look so fresh, as though it had been plucked moments ago. Where did he find something like this? Had they passed a hothouse somewhere?

He was holding it awkwardly, like someone who had found something unexpected in their hands and was hoping to pass it on to someone else soon, in case it exploded. Eirin knew how that felt. The first time she had handed a golden necklace to Morrigan the witch demanded to know what she wanted in return. The bag of boiled sweets that she had tentatively presented to Sten had been met with a shuttered look that made Eirin wish her shield wasn't on the other side of camp and the inordinately loud squeal of girlish delight when Leliana had been given the little medallion with Andraste's flame on it had been downright _embarrassing. _

"Is…this a trick question?" Eirin asked a little bewildered.

"Yes, absolutely!" Alistair's – clean – face lit up. "I'm trying to trick you; is it working? Oh, I just about had you there, didn't I?" Despite the cheery tone Eirin was beginning to get the feeling her fellow warden was trying to tell her something important. She tried focusing on his words, then something wet and slimy which had been working its way along the length of her ponytail _dropped_ into the gap between the edge of her armour and her neck.

"I picked it in Lothering" Alistair continued. "I remember thinking 'how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and _ugliness_?' I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't…the darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it." Whatever vile object had fallen down the back of her armour was making a slow descent between Eirin's shoulder blades. _Oh Maker, this is so incredibly and awfully and uncomfortably awkward!_

"I thought that I might…give it to you actually." Eirin tried shifting her feet. Perhaps if she stood straighter, then whatever that thing sliding down her back would stop and she wouldn't feel like dry-retching and screaming _get it off me!_ but instead her feet squelched disgustingly in her boots, adding to the overall nastiness_._

"In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you." Eirin hadn't been paying attention – did he just tell her that she reminded him of the Taint? Was this a grey warden thing? Something about the taint the two of them carried in their veins that was actually a good thing? He had already told her that it shortened their lives and while they were now able to detect darkspawn it also meant that darkspawn could detect _them_. It also gave them nightmares that made dreams of monsters under the bed seem like visions of frolicking puppies in a field full of daisies.

So…um. Eirin was pretty sure that Alistair liked her. Well, he hadn't told her he _dis_liked her exactly, but he always gave her the impression that it was rather difficult talking to her, judging by the halting sentences and the half-baked attempts at humour – which she did find funny, by the way. But the fact that he _persisted _in talking to her probably indicated that she wasn't on his list of 'people that were apostate mages and couldn't be trusted as far as he could throw them', right? And now he was giving her a…a flower and men didn't usually give flowers to women unless…_oh._

Under the grime, Eirin could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. He was still talking and it felt like only every second word was making sense. "…tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are amidst all this…darkness." He had stopped speaking now – should she say something back to him? Something nice too? The problem with that idea was she couldn't actually think of anything, other than pointing out that it was dark because the sun had gone down, but if he stood closer to the fire, or lit a torch…something told Eirin that probably wasn't a good idea.

The lack of a response, any response was making him look nervous again. "I guess it was just a stupid impulse, I don't know. "He paused, watching her intently and Eirin was painfully, uncomfortably aware how gross and disgusting she must look. "Was it?" he prompted, beginning to look as uncomfortable as she felt.

Eirin opened her mouth, forcing _sound _to come out. "Uh…errr…N-n-no" she managed. ", but…" Alistair's face fell visibly.

"But?" he echoed.

"But…" _Oh Andraste's bloody flaming nug-sticker!_ "I have this…_thing._"

"Thing?"

"Yes." Eirin's mouth tilted downwards – she wanted to cry. This sweet, beautiful man had just given her a flower and had said all those wonderful, heart-achingly adorable things about her and she just wanted to _flee_. "I think it's alive and it's…it's… oh good _grief_… it's _biting my butt_!" With one last wail of sheer misery, Eirin took off into the darkness, as though the entire horde were at her heels. She didn't stop to strip off her armour, taking a running leap into the murky pond, scattering lilies and weed and nocturnal amphibious creatures in all directions. It would not be until later, when Eirin sneaked back into camp, carrying her drenched armour and dripping pond slime that she would realise with dismay: _she hadn't taken the rose._

oOo


	5. Chapter 4 Awkward

Um…this chapter is a bit longer than I expected, but Redcliffe is an important place for Eirin and Alistair so I stayed awhile, took lots of touristy photos, wrote in my journal, sampled the cheese…

A quick warning to any Arlessa Isolde fans out there – I'm afraid she doesn't fare particularly well in this chapter.

Thanks to all of you who've sent reviews – the feedback has been useful, cheers! And please send more…pretty please…?

I also wrote this while listening to Maaya Sakamoto, Bob the Builder and my other half in the background talking about District 9, so I'm afraid some of the above may have crept in…wonder if anyone will notice? Don't worry, I'm _not_ having Alistair's speech at the final battle include: "Can we fix it? Yes, we can!"

oOo

**Chapter 4 – Awkward**

There was no other way to describe it, but…_awkward. _Camp was just outside Redcliffe village – most of the group had already left, except for the two grey wardens. Eirin had hung back, waiting for Alistair to finish talking to Bann Teagan. She hadn't wanted to leave without Alistair, but didn't want to be part of the conversation either – not with Teagan, especially after…She had excused herself, telling Alistair that she didn't want to intrude on their conversation and would wait for him a little further up the path.

She spent the intervening time waiting for them to conclude their brief by bouncing on the balls of her feet, looking up the hill; at the Chantry in the valley below; at the smoke curling out of the smithy chimney, anywhere but at the two men talking in low voices on the curved stone bridge by the stream. When she did risk a peek, she thought she caught Bann Teagan's eye and hastily looked away, hoping it had not been too obvious. Alistair had his back towards her, so it wasn't as if she could give him some kind of signal to block the view.

Eirin squinted up at the clouds overhead, trying to replace the sudden image of Bann Teagan in her head with something else: anything but a somersaulting, guffawing, idiotic clown wearing the Bann's well-tailored clothes – and ugh, his face. Yes, he had been possessed. No, he had had no idea he'd been doing it. Nor did he remember drawing his sword on them – or thankfully Alistair knocking him out before he could do anyone any damage. If she remembered correctly Bann Teagan was a very skilled swordsman and if Alistair hadn't been quick slipping behind him and striking him with the pommel of his sword, they would have had a harder fight on their hands. As it was, they'd had to deal with the Arl's knights and it wasn't as though _they_ were in large supply at the moment. If Morrigan had been with them, she would have just frozen the lot, but Morrigan had been elsewhere. So…Eirin was avoiding the Bann – and the _other reason _had an Orlesian accent and wore ridiculously high-heeled shoes.

The Arlessa had been moved to invite them to stay in the castle, a highly impractical notion, given that the castle was a tad…crowded at the moment. It was very kind of the Arlessa Eirin was sure, but the thought of having to negotiate her way over rotting corpses in the middle of the night while trying to find the privy was not an appealing one. The invitation had been politely but firmly declined.

_Urgh, I feel sorry for the poor servants,_ Eirin thought with distaste, _or whoever drew the short straw to clean up._ It would take weeks to clean up that mess, not to mention the smell the castle occupants had to put up with until it had all been done. _Oh dear, _Eirin thought suddenly. _I hope I didn't give _that _impression._

It was too late. The decision had been made and Eirin was keen to remove herself from the Arlessa's company. The woman didn't remember Eirin's family, had had no condolences for her, and it had taken a great deal of willpower on her part _not _to remind the Arlessa that _technically _as a Teyrn's daughter, she outranked a mere Arlessa – and one by marriage too. The woman was full of herself, clinging to Bann Teagan's arm like a jewelled limpet and the longer Eirin remained within range of the Arlessa's whining voice, she was going to do the woman physical harm. If Eirin had to assure Isolde one more time that _yes, we'll find the ashes _and _yes, we'll track down this Brother Genitivi you mentioned _and _yes, we'll be quick about it_, she was going to pick Isolde up, march to the bridge and hurl her over the wall like a javelin. The image of the Arlessa's screaming form flying through the air towards the frigid waters of Lake Calenhad kept Eirin entertained until Alistair came jogging up the hill towards her.

"He wondered why you didn't want to stay," he said by way of a greeting. Eirin glanced around his shoulder, to make sure the Bann hadn't decided to linger but no, the Bann was already half way to the windmill. She sighed and turned, taking slow exaggerated steps up the hill path.

"It was…" she began but discarded the rest of the sentence. There were words she would have liked to use, but risked offending Alistair. He had more or less grown up with these people and despite the circumstances leading to him leaving them behind, he still had affection for them – and _that _was another reason why Eirin didn't like the Arlessa.

Abusing small boys appeared to be a hobby of the Arlessa's. Not only had she been unnecessarily unpleasant to Eirin's little golem boy, but she had thrown out a very young Alistair as well. It didn't matter that the Chantry had taken him in, looked after him and gave him an occupation. That wasn't the point. A child was a child and Alistair could no more help the circumstances of his birth than the sun rising each day. The Arlessa should have trusted her husband, instead of letting vain jealousy ruin the life of a little boy. Luckily for Alistair it had worked out, more or less. If he hadn't been training as a Templar, Duncan wouldn't have found him - but how much unhappiness had Alistair had to bear before he'd been rescued? If it had been Isolde's _own son,_ Connor…

Eirin scrubbed at her face, damping down the anger before it made her say something she'd regret. "I couldn't…" _Sigh. _"You're just better at this stuff than I am, Alistair."

"Stuff?" he said in a tone of voice that sounded a little too casual. What was on his mind, Eirin wondered? He kicked a large pebble her way.

She spread her hands wide, "You know, _talking_ to people" she explained, though it wasn't quite what she meant, "being diplomatic". _And not telling them you hate their insides and definitely not pointing a sword at them and saying 'here, sit on this, will you?_' Instead the words "Being nice," left her mouth. "You have a talent for making people feel good about themselves, that sort of thing." Eirin felt her ears turn pink. Was he fishing for compliments? She certainly didn't mind giving them – he _deserved _to have them lavished on him – except that she didn't want his head to get so big he wouldn't be able to fit into that nice new helm Owen the Smith had forged as a thank you for rescuing his daughter.

She kicked the pebble back at him.

Alistair shot her a sideways look, kicking the pebble her way again. "You're not just saying that because of – you know – that thing we discussed before." She frowned.

"Of course not." Eirin kicked the pebble back. "You've always been good at it."

"Oh? Here I was thinking I was the stupidest and most unappreciated member of the group. So…I'm _nice_, is it? For example…?"

Eirin exhaled a mouthful of air, making a _pfft _noise. Examples? There was nothing _specific_ but she had to admit folk just preferred to deal with him. Perhaps it was because people just naturally gravitated towards men in armour, especially in these troubled times. Maybe it was because besides Sten he was the largest of the group and stood out more – and unlike Sten glared _less_ - or maybe…"Got one".She poked him in the arm; "You negotiated those provisions in Lothering after that man in Dane's Refuge told me to take a running leap."

"_After _I disarmed you and promised him the rest of our party wouldn't kill him," Alistair reminded her. "That's hardly a good example. What you did was not very nice."

"He insulted Dog!" Eirin scowled, catching the pebble on the side of her boot and flicking it back at him.

"If I remember correctly," Alistair told her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "you told Dog to 'sic 'im'."

"I did not!"

"Did too. I heard you."

"You did? Darn. Anyway, Dog only had a bit of a nibble, there was hardly any blood and Dog really needed the exercise. After the man came to, _you _were the one who managed to make him understand that we were willing to pay. Besides, he had no call for using that kind of language. I had a very sheltered upbringing. He offended my sensibilities."

Alistair made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously to Eirin like laughter. She frowned at him.

"So I'm nice _and _non-threatening," Alistair clarified. "You know, I'm beginning to suspect whether you have any valid examples at all. Maybe I should have wagered on this – I would be a very rich man by the end of this evening. I could probably buy my own cheese farm."

"You broke up that fight between Morrigan and Wynne this morning" Was she grasping at straws now?

"Only because Morrigan thought it would be more amusing to abuse me instead," he pointed out in a sing-song voice. He tossed the pebble onto the toe of his boot and flicked it over.

"You convinced Dwyn the dwarf to fight in the battle." That had to count for something.

"Dwyn the dwarf…" Alistair looked puzzled, searching his memory for that particular encounter and coming up with nothing. "Wait," he said slowly. "I didn't meet with Dwyn the dwarf, _you_ did. Hang on, you just wanted to say 'Dwyn the dwarf', didn't you? You did! Admit it! Dwyn the dwarf! Oh I am so on to you and your sneaky alliterations."

"Oh, like you didn't enjoy saying it too!" Eirin kicked the pebble hard. It smacked into Alistair's shin, bounced off and over the edge of the path. The two of them leant over the side, watching the pebble's progress until it was no longer visible.

"Wow," Alistair said, "that's a long way down."

"Mm"

"So…" Alistair drew the word out, the oh-oh-oh echoing softly down the valley. "My wonderful way with the common and not so common folk aside, is it just me or are you trying to avoid Bann Teagan? Don't change the subject – I know you'd rather discuss _me _and how adorable and irresistible I am and how you're _so _jealous – and why wouldn't you be? I know I would be, if I was you – and now you've let me change the subject - back on track. Do you…have the two of you…met before?"

Eirin looked over at Alistair. She could make something up and try to make it sound convincing, but she didn't like lying to him. She _sort of _had a past with Bann Teagan. Sort of.

"I don't think he remembers any thing he did while he was you know…under the _influence_." Alistair assured her, as if that might make a difference. Eirin made a face at him and the two of them continued their walk along the path.

After a long moment she said "I almost became betrothed to him."

"WHAT?" Eirin wished she could bottle _that_ expression on Alistair's face, so she could take it out on days when she felt depressed and needed a bit of a laugh.

"I did say 'almost', didn't I?"

"Well, this is…_unexpected._" He frowned. "I thought, I don't know, he'd taught you to ride a pony or fixed one of your dolls or…It's not as if he's you know, a _young _man."

Eirin shrugged. "He's not _that _old and does age matter?" she asked. "He may be a minor lord but not only is he – I mean _was _the king's uncle - Rainesfere is a respectable property and Bann Teagan was – _is_ - unmarried and that made him _eligible._ Or do I mean 'was'? I guess 'is' because technically he's still unmarried and…my point being Father quite liked him and they got on well – they both had similar interests: hunting, fishing...I'd come of age and father thought he was an appropriate match. Mind you, my parents had a _list _of young men they wanted to introduce me to."

"A list?" Alistair repeated, almost to himself. "Huh."

"_Any_way, in the end father decided to leave the decision to me – as long as I didn't end up unmarried at age eighty because he didn't think he would be sprightly enough to walk me down the aisle."

"Huh." They had come to the top of the hill. A little further and they would come into view of the camp. Alistair paused, head down, thoughtful. "I keep forgetting we come from different sides of life" he said with a self-deprecating, mirthless laugh. "You're the daughter of a noble and I'm just a simple country-bred bumpkin, who just _happens _to be one of the old king's 'accidents'. I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of accidents like me all over Ferelden. Nothing special there."

Eirin stepped in front of him. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she forced his head up. _Look at me._ "You are a grey warden," she told him. "And I am a grey warden. In the eyes of all of Ferelden, we are equals. I no longer have rank – and my father is…" Eirin took a long shaky breath, forcing herself to smile – for his sake. "All of that is in the past. I'm with you now, where I belong."

Straightening her arms, Eirin wound them around his neck, bumping the back of his head with her knuckles. He touched his forehead to hers, "That's not very romantic you know."

"I thought I was being romantic" she whispered against his lips. They were a little chilly. She was looking forward to warming them up soon. "Talking about you being special and all."

"Oh? So we're equal, buuuuuut _I'm_ apparently special, which means that one of us isn't, which makes _me_ more equal than you."

"Alistair…"

"Hmm?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

oOo

Alistair was already wide awake and as chirpy as a bird when Eirin emerged from her tent the next morning, yawning and bleary-eyed. She had stayed up late the night before, talking to Morrigan. The woman wasn't happy with the decision, but she understood Eirin's reasons and that was the best that could be hoped for. Morrigan, Sten and Dog would remain in camp while the rest of them made the trip north to Denerim to find the elusive Brother Genitivi. Neither witch nor Qunari believed that there _were_ sacred ashes to be found, and that too much time would be wasted making a side trip to do so, but without Arl Eamon, they would be one less ally and leaving the three of them behind made practical sense. Morrigan and Sten _stood out_, which was something they couldn't afford in a place like Denerim with Loghain's troops patrolling the city. Dog liked the Qunari's company and Eirin didn't know what kind of danger, if any, they would find. She didn't want Dog to be in the middle of it, _added _to the fact that a large party of such disparate people travelling together tended to attract attention regardless of whether a well-armoured Qunari and a scantily-clad buxom wench were in it.

Leliana, for all her distinctive looks was good at blending into crowds, looking as though she had always been there. She was also good at information hunting and what few clues they had been given by the Arlessa and the handful of returned Redcliffe knights were sketchy enough to need more. They also needed someone with healing skills – they had to travel quickly and therefore lightly and could not afford to carry too many healing potions and bandages with them, so that meant Wynne needed to come along and as for Alistair and herself well…the grey wardens stuck together. That was all.

The other reason was that Eirin wanted someone to stay behind to watch Redcliffe. Just in case. The blood mage had been imprisoned once more but Eirin didn't want to trust to fate again. It had been nerve-wracking the first time when they had needed to leave for the Mages Tower and Isolde, instead of being contrite at being the start of all the trouble at Redcliffe, appeared to be completely oblivious to her part in it. Eirin had not been surprised to find Morrigan felt as she did when it came to the Arlessa.

The woman, they agreed, was a _pill_ – and a bitter one.

"Just don't turn her into a toad, or anything," Eirin told Morrigan, though the warning hadn't been delivered with any particular enthusiasm and perhaps just a _tiny _bit of hope.

There had been…_other _things that Eirin had wanted to discuss with Morrigan that had been of a more…uh…_personal _nature and although Morrigan had looked at her with outright disgust and a little pity, she had still handed over the small glass vial of a particular elixir and then ended the conversation by transforming into a sleek black wolf and disappearing into the night-darkened forest. For her part, Eirin didn't want to think why Morrigan had stocks of the elixir on hand in the first place.

"I'd wondered when you were going to join the land of the living!" Alistair greeted her far too cheerfully.

Eirin's eyebrows lifted. "Given recent events, don't you think that's an inappropriate comment?" she asked. Alistair grinned widely, completely unrepentant.

"Not at all!" He practically bounced over to her, handing her a steaming mug of tea. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. "You know I had a thought: once this is all over we could have a big party; streamers, music, cheese-eating competitions...We'd invite everyone – and ask Bann Teagan to dance." The man's reflexes were _good,_ stepping deftly aside so that he missed the stream of hot tea that spewed at high speed from his fellow warden's mouth. Choking and coughing Eirin tried to punch him – he evaded that as well and took off, the two of them chasing each other around the remains of the campfire.

"That went up my _nose!_" Eirin growled at him – _Andraste's bulging breastplate, _for a man in armour, he moved inconveniently fast.

Alistair skidded on the trampled grass, arms windmilling - Eirin used the opportunity to vault over the fire's still-smouldering logs, in an attempt to cut him off. He saw her just in time and spun. She leapt onto his back, hanging on like a monkey – one arm around his neck, the other hand mussing his hair. Thinking his mistress needed assistance, Dog leapt into the fray, jumping up on Alistair to try to knock him over, barking and growling in canine encouragement.

Wynne chose that moment to emerge from her tent. She gave a sniff of disapproval and shook her head. "Must the two of you make so much noise this early in the morning?"

"I think it's cute," Leliana piped up. Her cheeks were pink and her hair slightly damp. "A couple of adorable little children."

"Children hmm?" Wynne shook her head. "Maker help us if a couple of children are supposed to save us all from the Blight."

oOo

"You know I'm glad you didn't marry him."

Eirin looked up from the puzzle. She had been trying to _think_ and Alistair was not helping. Was something bothering him? He'd kept up a stream of chatter that was making it hard to work out what to do next, and he'd been doing it ever since the chamber where Eirin had come face to face with…what could she call it? The spirit of her father? He had seemed solid enough and he had called her 'pup' in the voice that she had loved so much. It was a voice that had recalled many bedtime stories and laughter and scolds on behalf of an exasperated female parent. She had almost broken when she had seen him, torn between running away and wanting to hurl herself at him, begging him to come back to her, to reverse time and make it all better again. She had been trying hard to focus on the task at hand ever since. Guilt was a feeling that had been hard to shake off, gnawing away at her self control.

"Because you know, that would have made you…_technically speaking_, my _aunt_."

_Oh, I almost had it! _Why'd he go and break her concentration again? There were switches in the floor – the guardian spirit at the entry to the old temple had told them this was a test of faith. Eirin felt this puzzle had nothing to do with faith, but more memory and – let's face it – the process of elimination to work out which combination of switches extended the bridge.

"Family get togethers would have been _awkward…_"

It was exasperating, not to mention ironic that although Andraste had fought the Tevinter Imperium, the temple guarding her ashes appeared to utilise quite a few Tevinter-like mechanisms for protecting them. They had done the pop quiz and fought _themselves _which was incredibly hard because it was really difficult _not _to critique your own fighting style. Did she really swing her shortsword like that? Really? It was a wonder she didn't take her own head off. But would this be the last of the 'tests'? She dreaded to think what else lay in store…spikes from the walls? Shrinking rooms? Giant boulders chasing them through narrowing corridors? _Ugh, this is making my head hurt…_

"Not to mention the _name…_" Alistair chuckled in high amusement. "_Eirin Guerrin_."

Eirin's patience, already showing hairline cracks from her own mental pressure shattered under the hammer of Alistair's relentless conversation.

"Eirin Guerrin?" she snapped. "It'd be a damn sight better then _Eirin Theirrin_!"

As soon as she'd said it, she regretted it, but it was already too late to take it back. It had been said; her words echoing around the chamber, repeating her mistake over and over until the stones of the cave mercifully ceased throwing them back at her. She could have just asked him what was wrong. She could have just taken him aside and told him to calm down or…something. By the paleness of his cheeks and the sudden hardening of his jaw, Eirin knew this was going to be a really tough one to fix. If, she told herself angrily, it _could_ be fixed.

She stalked to the other side of the cave – Leliana turned away too quickly and Wynne had that _look _on her face, the one that reminded her so much of her mother (the look that told her she was _really _in hot water this time), accidentally triggering the last switch for the bridge. There was a gritty click as the final magical piece of the bridge connected.

"Well," Eirin heard Alistair say as he tested the bridge for solidity and beginning his way across. "It seems the ancients really favoured the '_clevers'_…"

oOo

The moment the Arls's eyes opened an audible sigh of relief spread through the room. Eirin stepped back, giving the Arl's family time to reconnect and catch up on events. She had also been completely unaware up to this moment that she had been practically _merging_ herself with Bann Teagan, breathing down his neck while the mage administered the ashes and performed his magey stuff over Arl Eamon's too-still form. Acutely embarrassed she attempted to make herself as small as possible, backing away further, edging around the perimeter of the room towards the door. She startled when Bann Teagan touched her arm and in a soft voice said, "Lady Cousland," and how she _wished _he didn't call her that. "May I have a moment of your time? I would like to speak with you, if it is not too much of an imposition." Behind him Isolde had finished conversing with her husband and she had stepped aside. Eirin could hear the Arl's weary voice saying in mild surprise, "Alistair? Is that you?"

"Yes," Alistair spoke from the shadows, his voice barely above a whisper. He had not expected to be allowed to be here, but Bann Teagan had _insisted._ Alistair had been one of Redcliffe's saviours and he had risked much to retrieve the ashes of Andraste. "Yes, Your Grace." Eirin saw Alistair's hand go to his breastplate and she knew what it meant: his mother's amulet. He had worn it ever since it had been returned to him and he knew it was most likely Arl Eamon that had collected every single piece and glued them back together. Eirin thought of the miniature golem doll. She wondered whether she would ever get a chance to return it to its rightful owner. For all she knew, its owner had been one of the walking undead horrors that they had fought. The thought made her feel ill. _I have to get out of here…_

Teagan's voice broke her out of her reverie once more. His eyes were full of concern as he asked her whether she was feeling well. Eirin inclined her head, her eyes barely leaving Alistair. She wanted to walk over there and throw her arms around him and tell him everything was going to be _all right._ With Duncan and the other wardens dead, the Arl was really the only sort-of family that Alistair had now. _Not true, _a defiant voice said in her head. _We're his family – Papa Sten and Mama Wynne and Sisters Morrigan and Leliana and Dog…and me._

She didn't. He hadn't said anything at all to her since the temple of Andraste and he probably didn't want to have anything to do with her right now. So instead Eirin nodded at Teagan and followed him from the room.

There was a domed atrium at the entry to the family's residential wing; stained glass reflecting the last rays of the late afternoon sun into the open space. Perhaps it was because the encounter with her father's shade had been too recent; as Eirin stepped into the fading coloured light, a wave of déjà vu swamped her; an old memory of home: her mother's voice warning her not to tarry too long after archery practice, dogs barking in the distance, the familiar sound of men's voices in the courtyard below, accompanied by the metallic rattle of armour. Her chest felt constricted and her head suddenly full of the pressure of unshed tears. She swallowed hard. _Stop it, you stupid girl! Pull yourself together!_

"Maker's breath dear lady, you do look ill."

Eirin forced herself back to the present. Teagan was gently leading her towards a stone bench, managing to set her down without touching her once. She smiled a little at that; he was ever the gentleman. He crouched in front of her, one hand resting lightly on the bench for balance, his blue eyes crinkled in worry.

She placed her hand on his. "Thank you, Bann Teagan. All I needed was a little air, I think."

"Well, there's plenty of it out here." she rewarded him with a small chuckle and his expression lightened just a touch.

"This place reminds me so much of home." Eirin explained. She squeezed her eyes shut; lifting her face to try and catch some warmth from the last rays of the setting sun, but there was none to be found and she shivered. Why did her thoughts keep jumping all over the place like this? Couldn't they just stand still and be considered one at a time? She opened her eyes to find Teagan still regarding her with concern. The man was really very kind and very sweet. He _was_ handsome; she had always thought so and he was interesting and _polished_. In another time and in another world where there was no Blight and no amber-eyed ex-Templars perhaps Eirin would have fallen in love with him and they would have lived happily ever after. But this was reality and there was a Blight and her heart belonged to someone else – and Teagan, through no fault of his own reminded Eirin of everything that she had lost.

"Is there anything else that I can do for you?" he asked.

"I'd really love a stiff drink," Eirin said, before she could stop herself. Teagan laughed; a deep, infectious laugh that had her grinning before him.

"Now _that, _dear lady I can provide." He left her briefly. When he returned he handed her a glass tumbler, a third-full of golden liquid that smelled of honey and spice. She took the tumbler gratefully, downing its contents in two big gulps. It was sweet; burning her lips and tongue and blazing a trail of warmth down her throat. By the time she had handed the empty tumbler to a very surprised Teagan, it felt like a fire was crackling merrily away in her stomach. Her ears felt warm and so did the tip of her nose. If it was glowing, she could probably light the way back to camp.

"Perhaps I should have asked you to sip that," Teagan said, a note of amusement in his voice. He was watching her carefully. Eirin rather liked that expression on his face. Someone giggled – some silly girl nearby, who had absolutely no control or any notion of _time and place._ Here she was, with this rather dashing gentleman with the smiling blue eyes, and someone had the temerity to find it _amusing. _It was _most _inappropriate.

"If I may ask a rather odd question…" Teagan began cautiously. "When was the last time you ate?"

Eirin raised her hand and tried counting on her fingers, but there suddenly seemed too many of them and she had mysteriously forgotten how to count. "I had…tea" she told him. "No, no forget I said that. It was just a mouthful – and I spat it all over Alistair. Again. But he ducked. Again. He's very quick you know. Like a fox. A quick brown fox…Except it was me that jumped over the dog – or was it the fire? I do have a dog however. His name is Dog. Clever name, don't you think?"

"Very clever" Teagan's eyes were sparkling. They were an awfully _pretty_ shade of blue, Eirin thought to herself. He was staring at the empty tumbler, shaking his head in bafflement.

"I've never seen someone get drunk so quickly on so little. You, dear lady are full of surprises."

Eirin didn't know whether that was a compliment or an insult. She felt too toastily warm to care.

"Teagan?" Alistair's voice was sharp as he emerged into the atrium. He took in the scene: the younger brother of his ex-guardian kneeling in front of…Eirin smiling, her cheeks rosy and dimpled. Before he could speak, to demand _what in_ _Andraste's name is going on…_? Eirin waved her arm at him.

"Helloo Alistair!" She turned to Teagan. "This is my friend Alistair. He's a grey warden you know. They're very, very…" She blinked, trying to find the proper words. A vision of Duncan rose in her mind and she finished her sentence with, "_hairy_ people."

"Hairy…?" Alistair spluttered.

"Oh, not _you,_" Eirin waved a hand dismissively at him. "You just have that tufty thing on your chin. Like a beard-in-training."

Alistair came closer, suddenly noting the empty glass in Teagan's hand. "Is she…is she _drunk?_"

Bann Teagan lifted one eyebrow. Eirin thought it was adorable. "It wasn't even half a glass," he explained. "Incredible."

"I don't think…" Alistair began, sorting through the small collection of memories he had of his fellow grey warden, "that she's ever had anything…_alcoholic _before."

"I'm not surprised" Teagan said with a sigh. He stood up. "I'll have one of the servants prepare a room. She shouldn't be wandering around like this."

"She won't _be _wandering around." Alistair snapped out every word, his expression stony. "She'll be perfectly fine with me."

Both eyebrows on Teagan's forehead lifted this time; the expression on the younger man's face more than hinted at a challenge.

"I'll take her back to camp with me, if it's all the same to you."

"Be practical Alistair. It's a long walk _uphill _and Lady Cousland won't exactly be steady on her feet."

"Lady Cousland's my mother," Eirin said helpfully and Teagan patted her absentmindedly on the hand.

"What do you intend to do?" Teagan asked, very calm. "Carry her on your back?"

"If I have to."

"You can piggyback me" Eirin suggested, standing up too fast - like a Jack-in-the-box. Her smile was a little too wide and her eyes a little too shiny. "Or I can piggyback you, if you're feeling tired." She slapped her hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Are you tired, Alistair? You've been working very hard." She turned to Teagan. "He's been working very hard. It's a tough job, killing darkprawns, but someone has to do it."

"Darkspawn," Alistair corrected her, his eyes not leaving Teagan's. "We'll be fine."

"Very well Alistair," Teagan stepped back slightly, with a small dignified nod. "I shall allow you to know what's best for your fellow warden." His eyes when he turned to Eirin, Alistair noted, were far too _warm _than he was comfortable with. "I shall bid you good night, dear lady."

"Night night," Eirin grinned back, wiggling her fingers at the Bann. As Alistair led her out into the walkway, Teagan could hear her say "Teagan has a nice voice. Don't you think he has a nice voice? Just like…" He didn't get to hear the rest; the two of them had moved quickly out of hearing range. With a heavy sigh, and a shake of his head, he turned back towards Eamon's room, noting how dark it had already become and wondering whether he should send someone after the two grey wardens, just in case. _Perhaps not._

Eirin stumbled after Alistair as his long legs chewed up the paving. She was a tall girl but Alistair's pace was unforgiving and even she was finding it hard keeping up, especially with a head full of warm cotton wool. The happy state induced by the rapid intake of alcohol on an empty stomach was fading quickly. The two of them had crossed the darkening courtyard and passed under the portcullis. The chill of the early evening had already set in; mist was beginning to form over the waters of Lake Calenhad and the cold had a sobering effect. Eirin remained silent; afraid to speak. _He must be so angry with me._

At the top of the hill, just past the Redcliffe Tavern, Alistair came to a sudden stop, causing Eirin to pile into him, bumping her nose painfully and she thought she heard a bit of a cracking noise. She sniffed, not trusting herself to speak, just in case she said something incredibly insulting again and upset him – again.

She was surprised to find him wrapping his arms around her saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." _Huh?_ But he was stroking the back of her head and babbling, "I didn't mean to upset you. I really didn't. I thought I was cheering you up, but I just made it worse – I'm an idiot – a stupid, doltish, brain-dead idiot, who doesn't deserve someone as brave and intelligent and beautiful-"

Eirin pushed away from him a little, her palms flat against his chest, the better to see him with. It was difficult – the sun was on the other side of the castle and the last rays of the setting sun were mostly obscured by their hilly surroundings. All she could make out was the dim outline of him.

"Alistair, what do you mean 'you're sorry'? I should be the one apologising to _you._"

"Huh? But I upset _you_."

Eirin shook her head, "It was me that snapped at you, when I shouldn't have. I was out of line and I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did – it was insensitive of me – and you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

"But…" he began, "you were…and then I saw Teagan and I thought he was proposing-"

"Proposing? To _me_?" Eirin said a little too sharply.

"Yes, _you_. You were the only one in the room and he was on bended knee and you looked happy – and after everything you told me about how the two of you almost…and I thought you didn't want anything to do with me and…have I jumped to the wrong conclusion? Please tell me I'm wrong, because if you married Teagan I'd have to call you Auntie and it would just be so, _so wrong._"

"And awkward?"

"Oh _Maker, _would it be awkward. I don't think you're supposed to fancy your old, married aunt." Eirin ignored the 'old' in there and assured him that _no, definitely no marriage to Bann Teagan_. "Oh, thank goodness. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that."

"Actually, I was thinking of marrying him off to Leliana."

"Leliana?" he asked. "Why?"

Eirin shrugged. "I just thought they'd make beautiful babies."

"Oh…" Whatever else he was going to say to her disappeared into the night air as the tavern door opened behind them and light spilled across the path. "_Oh Maker…_" Alistair exclaimed in dismay. "Your nose – it's bleeding!" And as he fussed over her, checking his pockets for a handkerchief (until she reminded him that he didn't have any pockets) and then _pulling off his glove _so he could use that to sop up the blood on her face and dab inexpertly at her nose, Eirin thought, _I don't deserve this man – but by Andraste's Blood, one day I will make sure that I do._

oOo


	6. Chapter 5 Market Day

**Chapter 5 – Market Day**

They were arguing _again_. Eirin tried not to listen, but found herself doing so out of habit. Any moment now she would need to leave her comfortable spot and intervene and she didn't want to. It was cosy here; just lying inside her tent contemplating the inside of it and the way the camp fire cast interesting shadows across the fabric. It was mesmerising, calming – and the sound of the two mages arguing was destroying any tranquillity that she had been able to achieve.

The volume and intensity of the voices increased, if that was at _all _possible. Eirin scrubbed her temples with her fists. _Urgh, this is so frustrating! Five minutes of peace, just five minutes…!_ Was that too much to ask? She didn't know why Morrigan riled the mage – no, that wasn't true. Eirin _did _know why the witch did it: out of pure enjoyment.

Of their little group, the two magic users were perhaps the most alike. It wasn't just because both women could cast spells that could turn enemies into ice, heal a laceration mid-battle or send a blast of explosive fire into a group of darkspawn faster than one could blink an eye. There were obvious differences - Wynne had had an isolated, sheltered upbringing in the Circle of Mages; while Morrigan a childhood spent running with the wolves in the free air. Wynne was conservative, while Morrigan flamboyant in her own, singular style…and yet they were both extremely disciplined individuals, both mentally and physically; they both had the same appreciation and thirst for knowledge (even if Wynne's choice of reading material was at times, questionable), but _most of all_ they were both extremely _opinionated_ people.

More often than not, it was Morrigan who started the conversation with Wynne and then it struck Eirin one day – while they were arguing yet again about life in the mages' tower - that Morrigan might actually be doing it because she _liked _hearing about the Circle. Eirin wasn't willing to test this particular hypothesis with the witch – she enjoyed not being green and…hoppy – but when she thought of it, she wondered why she hadn't thought of it before.

What were they arguing about this time, Eirin frowned? Ah yes, something about the Circle Tower and Chantry slavery…hadn't they discussed this _particular_ topic several times already?

With a sigh, Eirin pushed herself to her feet, almost tripping over Dog who was lying just outside her tent, paws over his ears. He looked up at Eirin as she went past, giving her a pathetic whine; _please make them stop; they're hurting my ears_.

Eirin bent briefly to scratch the top of his head. Dog gave a long-suffering canine sigh and slipped into the vacated tent – probably to crawl under the bedroll.

She took a deep breath; _well, here I go…_and hooking her thumbs into the top of her belt in an attempt to make herself look bigger and more authoritative Eirin began her way towards the two mages. But as soon as Eirin came within scolding range Morrigan gave an annoyed shrug and turned abruptly on her heel, heading towards her lean-to on the edge of the campsite. Wynne made a huffing noise and disappeared into her tent, leaving Eirin with nothing more than two empty spaces to lecture.

As the effort of coming over here would have been a complete waste of time if she hadn't done _something,_ she wagged her finger at the two spaces where the women had been, saying in a stern voice: "And don't let me find the two of you arguing again, or it's off to bed for the both of you and no pudding!" It was dumb really, but there were standards to be maintained.

"You know," an accented voice drawled behind her. "I am wondering whether the stress of command is starting to affect you. Look at those shoulders. _Tense_. I know a _wonderful_ method for relieving muscle tension."

Eirin turned slowly, adjusting her line of sight so she could speak to the elf eye to eye. She gave a humourless chuckle. "Uh, ha, ha. Let me guess. This method involves a substantial amount of scented oil, nakedness and a feather?"

The sparkle in Zevran's golden eyes was appreciative. "Actually no, but I like the way you think. I personally would never have thought a _feather_ of any particular use, but I am willing to try it. At least once – for quality control reasons of course."

Eirin laughed. She really had to give the elf credit for trying. She opened her mouth to respond and spotted Alistair hovering in the background, looking grim. He had taken to doing this whenever Zevran spoke to her, just in case the elf assassin decided on the spur of the moment to finish the job he had initially been paid for…or just in case any of Zevran's outrageous suggestions worked. The first case would involve running his longsword through the assassin's back. The second involved picking Eirin up, tossing her over his shoulder and running away as fast as he could.

In a fit of mischief, Eirin put a finger to her chin and cocked her head sideways. "Well, you know I'm not the only tense one in camp. How about…" She made a show of peeking around Zevran's shoulder; at Leliana sitting by the fire, idly tapping a silent tune on her knee – at Sten praying over his sword – around the other side at Oghren, passed out drunk at the entrance to his tent – and finally at Alistair, lurking in the background. The other grey warden's eyes widened as realisation began to wing his way. He held up his hands; no, no, _no._

"Alistair could _really _do with a…de-stressing," Eirin suggested innocently.

"I've already asked him," Zevran replied matter-of-factly. "No dice."

"Ah," Eirin said. _Damn it all._ Then: "You asked him first? Really?" Eirin turned the thought over in her mind. Had he asked any one else besides Alistair? Since when did she become last in line - the last one to be chosen for the jousting team…? At which point she caught the glint in Zevran's eye and _knew _that she had just been royally set up.

"Ugh…! Forget it! You…you…oh just go – no, wait, I'll go. It'll be easier." _And faster._

Eirin stomped away, Zevran's hearty laughter mocking every step she took. She tried to make it quite obvious that she did not intend to talk to anyone else that night; plonking herself down with her back towards the fire, facing _away _from Zevran. Crossing her legs, she rested her chin in the palm of one hand, no longer in the mood for contemplating shadows. It was chilly this far from the campfire, but she didn't care, feeling very put-upon and more than a little bit sorry for herself. _Ungrateful wretches…maybe I should just run off into the wilds and let the whole lot of you deal with the Blight yourselves. Bah! _

Unable to sit for too long without actually _doing_ something_,_ she began idly harvesting blades of grass; the idleness soon becoming industrious, focussed activity. She had piled them into neat little stooks when Alistair dropped down beside her. He mimicked her posture, though he probably didn't realise that he was doing so.

After a while, he said tentatively, "You know, about tomorrow…"

The stack of grass Eirin had so carefully piled up fell over. He was nervous. It was the particular tone of voice that told her he wanted to talk about the…_thing._ With an inner sigh, Eirin continued the job of collecting miniature stacks of grass as though it was a personal mission now. She didn't want to talk about the Thing, because if they did talk about it, they would end up in a conversational circle, going nowhere and Alistair would get upset and she would get upset and the two of them would end up wishing they had never talked and really wanting to talk – _because let's face it, you love the sound of his voice _– and it would be _awkward_. She hated awkward. When really she wanted him to just _accept _and everything would be hunky dory and it'll be 'my tent or yours?'

She stretched over for a couple of twigs, breaking them up and inexpertly arranging them into a little pen for her grass piles. Alistair helped her, tying up her bundles with longer bits of grass and stacking them into the twig enclosure. From time to time, he would glance at her – she was still looking peeved, but Alistair was patient. He could wait until she lost that crease between her eyes and the unhappy twist to that pouty but ever kissable mouth…now there was an idea…

"How did we end up like this?" Eirin said suddently, throwing him a helpless look that made him feel instantly guilty. _Wait, _Alistair asked himself, _why am _I _feeling guilty?_

"Well…" he reminded her with a huff. "You were talking with the elf and he annoyed you. So you came over here, and sat down and after a while I came over here too and sat down next to you…"

Eirin threw him a _look._ "You know what I mean." _Sigh…._

"What, you don't remember?" Alistair asked with exaggerated disbelief.

"Should I have taken notes?" Eirin inquired. "If I knew I was going to be tested later…"

"There was darkspawn?" Alistair prompted.

"Oh…_that's_ what those ugly hooting things with swords were, I wondered."

"And walking undead." Alistair began ticking each item off on his fingers. "And more darkspawn, and werewolves, and more darkspawn, and a horribly deformed, underground _thing_ with tentacles and raving lunatic born-again Andrastians – oh and there might have been some darkspawn in there somewhere, did I mention?"

Eirin peered into the darkness where the light of the fire did not reach, as though she could see the past there. In a way she could; see the miles behind them - so many miles, so many decisions; so many deeds stretching behind them. They had achieved so much and yet it felt like they had yet to start. It had been a long time since Ostagar. To Eirin it felt like decades and not mere months had gone by.

She had to remind herself that the battle at Ostagar had not gone well. Despite King Cailan's confidence and the skill of his troops, it hadn't been enough. Perhaps it may have been, if General Loghain had entered the battle as planned. Or perhaps Loghain's troops would have been defeated as well. Eirin didn't _know_. She hadn't had a chance to join the others on the battlefield. She had only caught a glimpse of the main battle from the top of the Tower of Ishal and it wasn't as if she had had time to count how many people were left on their side. It had been dark and loud and _chaotic_ and she and Alistair had been overcome themselves by a fresh swarm of dawkspawn bursting in on them.

If it hadn't been for Morrigan's mother, they would have died too. Perhaps. According to their rescuer Loghain had left the battle when the signal to charge had been given. He held the numbers – Duncan had said as much before the battle. It was his forces that were supposed to have turned the tide of battle. Loghain withdrawing his troops might have been a way to save good men for another time; why waste precious soldiers in a battle that could not be won? After a time no matter how many reasons Eirin could find for Loghain's actions that day, the conclusion was always the same: Cailan had counted on Loghain. They had had an agreement. Loghain had let him down. It had felt like treason then, in the aftermath of the events at Ostagar. As time went on it became clear that the king's general had planned to betray his king all along.

Then Loghain, piling bad upon evil had put about the rumour that it had been the grey wardens that had betrayed the king. With no Duncan, a bounty on their heads and a Blight to defeat it had been up to them – the last two grey wardens in the whole of Ferelden as far as they knew – to find new allies and build an army that could not only defeat the growing number of darkspawn but an Archdemon as well. They had no idea how to do it, but it had certainly been more than Loghain had done for his country, Hero of the River Dane or not.

And now they came to _this_.

"You forgot possessed Mages" Eirin reminded Alistair dully. _Prince Alistair._

"See? You were paying attention!"

Eirin sighed, resting her chin in her hand again. "I only remember because that was when I realised I had a thing for men in heavy plate."

Eirin could _feel _Alistair blushing next to her in the dark. How long had it been since the splint-mail? Well, it _had_ seemed silly fighting horde after horde in just mail, especially when it was usually Alistair that headed into the eye of battle, engaging the stronger and larger of their enemies, while the others in their group hacked away at the slightly easier targets – so heavy armour it had to be. He'd complained about it at first, telling her the plate armour was too much like wearing a Templar's uniform again, but changed his mind the next time they came up against a volley of darkspawn arrows. _And…_the thing about heavy armour was that the body tended to compensate for the extra weight, developing muscles in quite interesting places…not that he hadn't had them there in the first place…and not that she was _complaining_…or anything.

_Prince Alistair._ In the heavier armour he was even beginning to _look_ royal, recalling the style of armour King Cailan had worn at Ostagar, although Alistair seemed less like an overgrown, enthusiastic little boy playing at soldier and more like a metal-plated, efficient killing apparatus. He and Sten on the battlefield were a truly terrifying sight.

On the outskirts of Redcliffe - a million years ago - when Alistair had confessed his parentage it had seemed just fine; just another little facet of the man to store away in her memory and to take out when she was feeling mentally cold and needed to hug something woolly and warm. She liked the title – it suited him, even if he didn't think so himself. But that was Redcliffe, and Redcliffe was half way across Ferelden and mountains and paragons and elven ruins away. Back then the Arl had been unconscious and there had been only the treaties to worry about. _After _the Arl regained consciousness…the world became a slightly more difficult and complex place.

Eirin had thought that all they had to do was exercise those treaties, march against the Archdemon and somehow defeat it. Now…the Arl had this interesting idea that had Alistair fleeing every time he saw Eamon or looking as though he was being forced to sit on a porcupine when he _couldn't_ run.

Beside her Alistair shifted, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He cleared his throat. "Heavy armour?" he queried – and did his voice just sound a little bit squeaky? "A…_thing?_ Really?"

He wasn't wearing armour now – that had been removed, cleaned and stacked neatly in his tent. He was just in his leather trousers and a loosely fitting shirt. Eirin was in the same. _Twins, _she thought. _We could be bookends, huh…_

"You don't think there's something mysteriously_ alluring_ about full plate armour?" Eirin asked, rearranging her grass piles. Discuss anything but the Thing – the thing that even rhymed with 'thing' - oddly enough.

Except it wasn't odd at all. When Eirin had sat herself down and forced herself to _think like a grown up_ she thought it might be just one of the most brilliant ideas ever – not that she would ever admit this to Eamon. Agreeing with the Arl made her feel uncomfortable on principle. It wasn't as if she disliked the man exactly. He was perfectly personable, if you didn't try to make him laugh or accidentally launch a bowl full of peas across a formal dining table into his lap. Something about him made Eirin very tense. Perhaps it was the timbre of his voice; like an old disapproving tutor, or perhaps it was his hawk-like glare or…_maybe it's his choice of spouse_…_Oh I don't know._

With Eamon around to do all the arguing, Eirin was quite happy to discuss the Thing. Away from Redcliffe, camped a safe distance from Denerim she wasn't so keen. She didn't want to bring the Thing up. She wanted to leave it for another day, maybe even two days, three hours and forty-five minutes…or thereabouts.

Eirin just wasn't in the mood, nuh-uh. Keep him distracted for as long as possible; that was the way, but the current topic was fast losing momentum and she was struggling to keep it going. She wracked her brains - what else was great about heavy armour, especially the kind that the Templars wore?

"And there's the skirt," Eirin heard herself say. _Whoa, wrong!_ And then she made it _worse:_ "I mean, what's under that skirt?"

This was going downhill fast_._

"Wouldn't you…like to know?" _Did I just ask him that? I can't believe I just asked him that…!_

"No" was Alistair's short, but firm answer. "I don't. And for the record, no I don't find _men _in any kind of armour attractive. _Women, _on the other hand…wait. Are you trying to sidetrack me?" _Darn. Sprung!_ "You're a bit sneaky. Here I was, trying to have a serious conversation and it turns into a confession about how you find Templars irresistible."

"You're a Templar," Eirin pointed out in a small voice, hoping to win back some points.

"_Former _Templar" he corrected her and before she could say anything else, he blurted out, "Landsmeet. Denerim. Tomorrow. Need to talk. To you. Now. Phew! There, I managed to finally say it." He wiped a hand across his forehead dramatically.

"Oh wow, I can't believe I got that in. I've been just about bursting…uh, no forget I just said _that_ particular word. What I mean is we haven't had much of a chance to talk this over. Just you and I. Not that we've had much time to do anything else really except plan and talk politics with Eamon – and you know how much _that_ makes my teeny tiny little brain go all wobbly and then I have to go and have an entire wheel of cheese and a lie down and _oh_ _Maker, _the dreams you have when you've eaten too much cheese before bedtime…Well, you know what I mean. You _do _know what I mean, don't you? Because if you don't then I'm just going to have to go away and pretend that you still think I'm clever when in _actual _fact…Am I…am I babbling again? I am aren't I – but you'd tell me if I was and save me the embarrassment of…_embarrassing_ myself, right? Right?"

On the other side of Eirin's face, the side that Alistair could not see, the corner of Eirin's mouth twitched. She loved the way he babbled. It was so darned cute – not to mention a fantastic delaying tactic, but she knew that she couldn't drag this on forever. It was just unfair. So she swallowed her own objections and said, "All right. Let's talk about the Landsmeet."

Alistair slid his hand around hers, lacing his fingers through her own: his silent way of telling her he wasn't angry at her as much as seeking contact for comfort. For them both.

"You and Eamon had a long talk before we left Redcliffe…" he said in the more serious of his voices.

"Look…" he ran his other hand through his hair. He did that a lot – it was no wonder it stood up like that in the front. "You know how I feel about this. Know how I feel about the whole…_king _thing. I don't want…I can't…I think Anora's a _fantastic _Queen. And what's great about that is she actually _wants _to rule. She's a known entity. People already trust her. Me, I'm just an inconvenient _spare_."

"Alistair," Eirin frowned. "Are you afraid that people will actually _dislike_ you if you try to be king?"

"Well no, but…why change things when people are happy with the way things are?"

Eirin expelled a lungful of air in exasperation. "Alistair, are you blind? Have the people we met with been _happy_? The only thing we've seen – _I've _seen – are helpless, _un_happy, angry, terrified people. People who are hungry. People who have lost their homes and all hope of having any home ever again! You say Anora's a good leader? Well, answer this: if she _is _so good, then why did she hand over leadership to the man that was instrumental in her husband's death? The _king _no less! Why has she allowed mercenaries to operate in the capital city, under her own nose? And why, despite all the evidence pointing to a full-scale Blight, has she been incapable of negotiating an alliance with any neighbouring countries to help?

"I don't believe that she has the interests of Fereldans in her heart – if it can be proven that the woman _has _a heart in the first place! She's made no case for the grey wardens, made no effort to protect her people. On the contrary, she's an accessory to civil war within her own country! If that makes her a great leader, then I'll stick the crown on her little blond head myself and throw rose petals at her coronation!"

Alistair did not speak for some time, either completely lost for words at Eirin's angry outburst, or else he was slowly considering them in his head. Eirin hoped it was the latter, even if the 'your tent or mine' option had gone so far away, it wasn't even within waving distance anymore. Well, she had said her piece, even if the whole point of this conversation was for _Alistair _to speak his mind. It was said, it was done. Eirin had her own memories of Queen Anora: she may have a reputation for being a flower among weeds in Ferelden society, but not all flowers had a pleasant scent and some frequently had thorns.

After a long, long time, Alistair let out a long slow breath. "Wow…You know, maybe it's just my overactive imagination; but I kind of get the impression you don't like Anora."

"Really?" Eirin said in a flat, emotionless voice. "How could you tell?"

"Oh you know…intuition." He leant in close, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Don't let Morrigan know, or she'll be disappointed – and you know how I _hate _disappointing Morrigan" he whispered sotto voce. "Here's the thing: I'm actually quite perceptive."

"And you know big words like 'perceptive'?" Eirin raised her eyebrows. "I knew there was a reason I love you."

"Really? Big words?" She could feel his mind working hard – his hand flexing around hers, trying to think up more big words to impress her with. "Is…that the only reason you love me?"

"Well that," Eirin admitted cheerfully, "and the fact that you look _incredibly _good in heavy armour." And would make an amazing _Thing,_ Eirin added to herself.

"Oh. Oh, I see…that's…you're telling me that when I wear heavy armour, I'm actually doing it for you?"

"As opposed to wearing it for actual protection you mean?" _Hmm…_"Yes," she nodded, "pretty much."

She counted out a few seconds, allowing him to digest this idea before saying, "So…you don't mind me ogling you when you're wearing the _special _armour?"

"Well, it wouldn't be fair of me to deprive you" he said generously.

"That's so sweet. I appreciate it."

"What can I say? I'm just wonderful that way."

"And…" Eirin began cautiously, wondering how she was going to bring up the _other _topic. "Now _that's_ out of the way-" Anything she was about to say was waylaid by his mouth descending on hers; warm and sweet…much like the man himself. Clearly, talking was not what he had in mind, one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding around her waist, his fingers tracing random patterns along the base of her spine that sent little fizzing sensations along the surface of her skin under the suddenly-too-thick fabric of her shirt. She didn't mind the loss of conversation. This was _much better_, thinking of Denerim and trying _not_ to think of Denerim and trying _not_ to think about when the two of them would ever be able to sit like this under the stars with the campfire behind them and not worry about Blights and war and who was going to rule the country.

He had detached his mouth from hers, compensating the loss by peppering light, butterfly wings of kisses across the curve of her cheekbone, down to the base of her ear. Eirin buried her nose in the contours of his neck, breathing in the scent of him; that addictive Alistair combination of soap and metal and always for some reason…vanilla. _Hmm, one day I'll ask him about that one._

"So…" his breath tickled the fine hairs along the edge of her ear, "Your tent or mine?"

oOo

Denerim. The last time the group had visited the capital city the Arl of Redcliffe had been gravely ill and there had been this _awful _woman that Alistair claimed to be related to and people had tried to kill them. This time around the Arl was hale and hearty, but there was a _horrible _woman whom Leliana claimed to have some association with who tried to kill them. Looking at the bodies lying around the rented apartment, Eirin figured this particular episode now meant overall a net reduction in the number of people who wanted them dead. This was a _good_ thing.

Alistair poked one of the fallen with the toe of his boot, his lips curling in distaste. "Blood mage" he shook his head. "Why does there always have to be blood mages?"

"You would prefer bunny rabbits bearing bouquets of flowers instead, my friend?"

Zevran straightened up from his inspection of one of the bodies. He held up a bloodied dagger, turning it over, testing the weight of it by balancing it on the edge of his forefinger. He flipped the dagger into the air, caught it and sent it skimming over Alistair's shoulder to lodge itself in the doorframe behind the ex-templar.

"I suppose you thought that was funny!"

Zevran laughed. "Actually yes. I find your expression particularly amusing."

Beside Zevran, Leliana giggled. Eirin frowned at the slender redhead. The giggle had had an edge to it that Eirin didn't quite like. She stepped between the two men, placing a hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"You know what would really be great?" she said, gently steering Alistair towards the exit and _away_ from Zevran.

"Shopping. Sightseeing. Just strolling around Denerim for _fun._ And if you all behave, I'll buy you all a lollipop."

"I wish to have one that is flavoured with fruit," the deep voice of the Qunari rumbled.

Sten fell into step behind them, creating a solid wall of muscle and bone between templar and elf, much to Eirin's relief. She shot a glare over her shoulder at the assassin, who returned her glare with a good natured wink. Zevran teasing Alistair was like dangling a bit of wool in front of a rabid kitten – and Zevran enjoyed himself far, far too much than was good for him. She still hadn't forgiven him for the previous evening.

"Do you think we could stop by the Wonders of Thedas?" Wynne asked. Eirin tried not to laugh. That was her team: we've just killed a house full of people (okay, they were _armed _and they had started it first), and just as happy as you please, they're content to agree to go off _shopping_ afterwards. It said something about how tense everyone was becoming as the confrontation with General Loghain and sorting out this Blight business came nearer. The Landsmeet was barely a day away and everyone (except perhaps _Zevran_) was getting nervous.

They were following Arl Eamon's advice. He had suggested they look around Denerim, speak to people, sound them out, listen for information, try and gauge the general feeling for Loghain around the place; anything to help them win their cause. It was during this fact-finding commission that they came across a summons to meet with Leliana's former employer.

"I think…" Leliana told them in a voice that sounded far away and a little vague, "I'll return to camp. I…have a lot to think about."

"I will accompany you, I think" Zevran offered, with a last sly grin tossed Alistair's way.

"Right," Eirin looked around the room at the remaining members of the group. "Anyone else coming along?"

Morrigan was already disappearing through the front door, the familiar blue shimmer around the witch's outline indicating that she was shapeshifting out of human form into…something else. _Okay, so that's just Wynne, Alistair, Sten, Dog and myself._ _Cosy._ She didn't have to worry about Oghren – or did she, having allowed him to head to the Gnawed Noble Tavern instead of accompanying them to meet Leliana's former mentor? According to reliable information (and she didn't ask him _how reliable_), the tavern sold fifty types of ale, twenty-five variations of mead, a dozen types of cider and claimed to have the largest selection of imported and local spirits outside Orzammar. Some of them, Oghren had claimed, had been made from _nugs._ Eirin hadn't had the stomach to ask him about that one.

Initially she had intended to have a bit of a chat with Marjolaine, let Leliana do some nostalgic catching up, go shopping and swing by the tavern to pick up the dwarf later. They hadn't counted on ending up with a house full of bloody bodies. She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek with her arm. _We'll have to do something about this mess…_

The party walked together as far as the Denerim Chantry. While Alistair ducked inside to speak to the Revered Mother, Eirin watched Leliana and Zevran walk away together towards the city gates, frowning at the two of them until they disappeared from view. She hoped that Zevran wouldn't do anything…foolish.

Dog bumped his head under Eirin's hand. She looked down on him - his expression telling her that lollipops were undignified comestibles for proud, battle-hardened mabari. Chuckling, she scratched his ears, watching his eyes close shut in canine pleasure, one rear leg scratching at an invisible itch midair.

"Well, all right then." Eirin told him. "A big, meaty haunch of something that used to be alive for you." Dog's tongue lolled out of his mouth. _Yes, a much better idea._

"Well, they weren't happy about it, but they'll send someone to uh, clean up."

Alistair handed the money pouch back to Eirin. It was considerably lighter, _I hope this is worth it_, she told herself, wondering whether what was leftover would cover a new pair of robes for Wynne, along with the other things Eirin had planned for the others.

"I think we're beginning to earn ourselves a bit of a reputation." Alistair told her, as they party moved off.

"Wonderful," Eirin sighed. "That's all we need."

"In a good way," Alistair assured her hurriedly. "We should let Sergeant Kylon know however. Best stay on the friendlier side of the law while we're here - though it's not as if Leliana's 'friend' was a particularly law-abiding citizen."

Eirin nodded her agreement. It was true enough.

"You promised confections," Sten reminded her sternly. "On a stick." _Right._

The five of them made their way into the market district, firmly placing the messy business with the Orlesian bard behind them. They found a sweet vendor and after loading up Sten with wrapped parcels of sugary things, Eirin sent him and Dog to Wade's Emporium to check up on some armour repairs. The market was always interesting in Denerim. Even if a person hadn't intended to spend any coin, they could still be entertained by just watching the well-greased cogs of commerce clunk away.

She and Wynne lingered over a trestle covered in amulets – Wynne tut-tutting disapprovingly at their construction until the hawker began surreptitiously packing up his wares. Laughing, Eirin turned to find Alistair with his gaze fixed on the towers of the royal palace; visible just over the roofline of the city. His shoulders were slumped, lost in depressing thoughts of his own.

Eirin picked up a bracelet and dangled in front of him. "What do you think of these? For Morrigan?"

Alistair jumped and stared, his forehead creasing. "Morrigan?" he frowned. "Is that…?" It was a charm bracelet, which just _happened _to have a tiny silverite token of a wolf on them.

"If we can find a crow and a spider, it'll be perfect, don't you think?" Eirin asked; looping her arm through his and turning him back towards the market.

"Only if those tiny figures can somehow release a slow-acting poison on contact," he muttered darkly.

"That's not nice, Alistair" Eirin scolded.

"But it would be fun."

Eirin bustled the two companions through the market, keeping Alistair distracted and slowly making their way towards The Wonders of Thedas. Along the way, they picked up a pair of embroidered silk slippers for Leliana – completely impractical on the battlefield, but they did have blades cunningly stitched into the toes – a leather utility belt for Zevran – Dalish made of course – a hip flask for Oghren which Wynne thoroughly disapproved of and a new collar for Dog. Eirin was wondering whether Wade could craft some dragon scale spikes onto it, when Wynne tapped her arm.

"Wonders of Thedas," she said. "Just over there. They certainly are low-key. If we weren't looking, we would have missed it altogether."

Eirin craned her neck over the crowd, looking towards Wynne's pointing finger. There was a hanging board over a narrow door; she could just make out a painted picture of a mage's staff above faded lettering. Wynne was already making her way over.

Placing her palms on Alistair's back, she pushed him after Wynne. He laughed, resisting just enough to necessitate Eirin using her shoulder.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" he joked. "I wonder what that could be – oh, The Wonders of Thedas," he said, catching sight of the shop – and that only because Wynne was making a beeline towards it. He took a sudden step forward, causing Eirin to lose her balance.

"Arl Eamon once bought me a miniature golem doll here."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair glimpsed a dark head arcing past, followed by a soft thump and a fountain of colourful invective. He peered over the packages in his arms at the woman lying in the dirt. He shifted his parcels, trying to free a hand, offering it to her. She looked pale, midnight blue eyes wide like a deer caught in the torchlight of a hunter.

"Are you all ri-"

"What did you say?" Eirin's voice was sharp and yet breathless, as though the recent episode of swearing had sucked all the air out of her lungs.

"I, uh…" Alistair began, then realised what he had just said probably wasn't going to make him look good. Dolls were for girls. Sort of – and if he had admitted to ever owning a girl's toy, would that make him less manly in the eyes of the one woman in all of Ferelden whose opinion mattered more than anything? Especially if it made him seem less manly in _her_ eyes.

"I was young," he told her hastily. "Really young. Practically a newborn. People give babies miniature golem dolls all the time right? Because it's not something a boy would play with. Because I'm a boy. Man. A man with very manly interests. Man. I wonder where Wynne's got to…"

So eager to escape further embarrassment Alistair had hurried on, completely forgetting Eirin was still lying in the dirt outside. It was a while until she was able to speak and when she did, all she could manage was "Huh."

oOo


	7. Chapter 6 Return to Highever

I listened to Maaya Sakamoto/Yoko Kanno's 'Gravity' _a lot _when I was writing this chapter - the words seemed to fit perfectly the journey Eirin was taking; the memories she had collected and…the voice inside telling her to keep going…_is somebody there beyond these heavy, aching feet…_I could see in my mind the little Redcliffe boy behind Eirin and Alistair waiting for her just up ahead…

Hope you enjoy the chapter – I'm sure you'll tell me if it's really awful - and by all means, please _do_!

Bioware owns...yup

oOo

**Chapter 6 – Return to Highever**

"_I have a plan you see. A way out…a _loop_ in your hole…"_

"_An unfortunate choice of words, Morrigan…" _

_The two women had sized each other up, watching each other warily across the space of the room. After all that had happened – and she was glad to be away from Denerim and Anora and the Landsmeet Hall and memories of Loghain's blood pooling around her feet…She was _not_ surprised Morrigan was here. Not after the discussion with the other grey warden. _

_In fact, she had been _hoping _to talk to her._

_Eirin kicked the door shut, made sure it was locked. The wood was thick; their voices would not be heard._

"_I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a grey warden must be sacrificed…I have come to tell you that this does not need to be…What I speak of is old magic…some would call it blood magic but I think that would mean little to you."_

_Eirin scoffed, "Blood magic, old magic…I'm no mage nor chantry devotee, Morrigan. It's not that the distinction would mean little to me – I simply don't care."_

_Did the smallest of smiles just visit her eyes, Eirin wondered? She had listened to the witch's proposition. Then Eirin had made the witch listen to hers…Morrigan did not like it._

"_I offer you a chance for the both of you to live," she had snapped – Eirin shrugged._

"_I'm quite happy to give my life, Morrigan. I knew what I was getting into when we sought to defeat the Blight in the first place; knew that either of us could die at any time."_

"_And have you not given any thought to how _he_ will feel about that? When he loses the woman he loves?" she had sneered._

"_Lots, actually. Alistair is a great deal stronger than you give him credit for. He won't like it – but he will survive and he will recover and he will rule as he was always meant to." Even though, Eirin told herself, she never meant for him to rule alone._

"_Fool of a woman!" Morrigan began to pace the room, a wild caged thing, her face glowing in fury._

"_Think about it Morrigan," Eirin had spoken to her in a voice calm as ice. "Alistair will want to see the child – even if you do not wish to be found, he will have resources – as King of Ferelden – at his fingertips to ensure that you are. Give him a distraction and…"_

_Morrigan had thrown her a look of curdled milk and vinegar. _

"_You owe us, Morrigan," she reminded her. "We disposed of Flemeth for you. Think of it as a small price to pay for your _own _security."_

_The witch had stopped pacing, glaring into the fire, her golden, feral eyes reflecting the flames. When she finally spoke, it appeared some of the anger had been replaced by what, Eirin wondered? A grudging respect? _

"_I can make no guarantee…" _

"_No, but you'll make sure that you'll _try _at the very least." It was a risk, Eirin knew; a huge risk – but if one didn't ask… And would Morrigan really give up the opportunity to perform this particular experiment? Especially if it meant greater power, greater knowledge for herself? How much – really, how much did Morrigan want this god-child of hers to raise and manipulate to her will? A chance to become even more powerful than Flemeth?_

"_It is agreed then." Morrigan snapped her head up, eyes half-hooded. "You will speak to Alistair…and I urge you to be convincing…"_

oOo

The knock on the door made Eirin jump, her hand closing hastily around the letter. It made an obvious, crackling sound, but her visitor didn't seem to notice. In fact he appeared more shaken than she felt at that moment.

"Y-y-your…uh…Maj-um…"

"'Grey warden' is fine" Eirin reassured the boy, allowing herself to breathe out. Now what was the name? "…Berias, isn't it?"

The page boy nodded, vivid emerald eyes becoming even larger in his pale, angular face. _Trust Alistair to send someone I can't turn down…_

Berias clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. He was small, even for an elf his age and had a tendency to startle easily, regarding people – humans specifically – above a certain size with outright terror. Considering the boy's immediate past, it wasn't surprising. He had fainted when Shianni had first brought him to meet the king, though in his defence, the king _had _been wearing the Big Armour.

"Uh-I-I h-have a m-m-message, grey warden," Berias said, looking perilously close to tears. Eirin took pity on the poor lad.

"And let me guess: you don't really want to deliver it?"

"I-it's it's…I c-can't say the word, m-ma'am"

Eirin's eyes narrowed. _What did Alistair tell the poor child to say to me?_

"If you're uncomfortable saying it, Berias then don't by any means force yourself."

"Actually…" At the sight of the king poking his head around the doorframe, poor Berias gave a frightened squeak and fled.

"I told him to tell the grey warden that if she didn't get her _arse_ on her horse in the next five minutes, we'd come and drag her out by her ears" Alistair explained cheerfully. "Why? That wasn't so frightening, was it?"

Eirin sighed. "Not to _you_"

"Well, I promised Shianni I'd try and bring the child out of his shell."

"You don't have to do it by poking him with a sharp stick, Alistair. You could have tried a slightly more gentle approach."

"Well, I would have written you a note, but I left my paper, quill and ink pot in my other armour." He clapped his hands together, "Now, the sooner we're on our way, the less time Eamon has to think up any reasons for us not to go." He looked around the room; whether he expected the Arl to suddenly materialise from behind a bookcase or because he was looking for whatever riveting distraction was keeping her here, instead of _outside _and ready to go, Eirin couldn't tell.

"Come on then," he added. "We've both been cooped up here for too long – let's go! Fresh air! The wide, open road! Just you, me and ten heavily-armed soldiers and our horses. It'll be fun!"

It had been four months since the final battle; four months since the desperate flight from Redcliffe to Denerim, hoping that the army would arrive in time. No one had expected the horde to appear so far north – all their intelligence had told them to expect to fight at Redcliffe. It had almost been as if the Archdemon had known Denerim was the centre of doubt. The one place in Ferelden that did not believe the Blight existed.

Four months later the events from those few days now seemed foggy and confused; as though the memories from that time had sunk into a kind of mental treacle.

Eirin went to pick up her gloves from her desk – Alistair noticed the letter and frowned.

"Working still?" he asked. "I thought we agreed: no more work until we come back from Highever."

"It's just some correspondence," Eirin shrugged dismissively, but was too slow – Alistair had snatched up the letter, holding it out of reach as she tried to retrieve it. He flicked it open above his head, a deep scowl forming as he read it.

"What's this?" he asked "Is this some kind of joke?"

Eirin held out her hand but he made no sign of giving it back. "Who's it from?" he demanded suspiciously.

She shrugged. "No one," she said; then added, "Morrigan."

He stared at her. "Mo…" He dropped the letter as though it was diseased, his mouth curling in distaste. She noticed he wiped his hand – even though it was gloved – on his leg. "Why is she…? No forget it. I don't want to know. Let's just get going; I don't wish to delay any further." With that pronouncement, delivered in the voice he normally used when he was in no mood for arguing, he turned on his heel. He couldn't have made it more obvious that he was displeased – and she couldn't blame him.

The Archdemon had been defeated on the top of Fort Drakon four months ago. They had both been there to see it fall – Eirin had delivered the final blow - and from the top of the fort, they had seen the last of the darkspawn; leaderless, directionless, scatter and flee.

They had both lived.

According to Riordan, one of them should have died. Well, if one included _all _of the grey wardens in Ferelden at the time, one of them _had _died. They had found Riordan's body not far from the fort and his sacrifice had been treated with all the honour as it deserved. He may not have delivered the killing blow, but he had been the one who had forced the dragon to land and given them the chance they needed. However, contrary to Riordan's information Eirin had returned, remarkably whole and _alive_ from the tower to join the others.

They had been unable to find Morrigan. At first it had been thought that she had perished, along with Dog. Like Dog, no body was to be found in the ruin of Denerim, though the search for Dog's remains had been longer and more dedicated than the search for the witch. And then the stories began trickling in; sightings of a young woman matching her description in Nevarra, then close to the border of Orlais. Eirin wondered whether Alistair would send someone out to find her – she had even thought to send Zevran except that Eirin really didn't know what purpose it would have served.

She knew that Morrigan would contact her…eventually.

Not wanting to delay the party any longer, Eirin folded the letter and tucked it away for later. She didn't need to hold on to it, so the first chance she would have it would end up on a fire. It wasn't as if she needed to memorise what had been written in the letter – it had been composed of only two words: '_Tis done._'

oOo

"Copper for your thoughts?"

Highever lay just over the next horizon, a short ride away. Their party could have pressed on, arriving at the castle late evening but Alistair had called a halt and ordered to make camp. Despite his guard captain's objections, only he and Eirin would ride out together the next morning. This close to Cousland castle, if they were to run into any trouble, help would not be far ahead…not that the two Heroes of Ferelden couldn't handle a few bandits, stray darkspawn or a pack of ravenous wolves. Eirin doubted they would encounter anything more than a flock of seabirds – and they had already met _those_. The captain's men were still cleaning up the mess from that.

"Is that all they're worth now?" Eirin asked.

She had to admit it was good to have someone else set up camp for a change; someone else to make sure firewood was being collected, someone else to pitch the tents and – thankfully – someone _else _to make the evening pot of travel stew. Someone that didn't think rabbit was a vegetable and herbs nothing more than unusual-looking grass. She had spent the time in lieu of setting up camp trying to untie the knots of tension in her muscles.

While she had spent enough time on horseback over the last few months travelling between Denerim and the Wardens Keep at Amaranthine, they had been relatively short trips. She had never extended the ride…continuing on across the coastlands to Highever…back _home. _And she had become more tense as they had passed through the arling into Highever, heading northwards and ever closer towards the Waking Sea.

"Hey, what's this?" Alistair asked, eyebrows raised. "Am I to believe the price of _thought_ has gone up now? And here I was thinking it was just cheese and Orlesian silk I needed to worry about. You know, I don't recall Eamon briefing me on the subject – I'm going to have some _stern words_ with him when we get back. He's supposed to keep me informed on everything that happens in Ferelden – for instance – did you know that we export rat traps to the rest of Thedas? I certainly didn't…"

He shook his head at the thought.

"And people wonder why I've learnt to sleep with my eyes open during Eamon's lectures. Please don't tell him – or he'll make me sit at the front of the class and poke me with a ruler, just to make sure I'm still awake – and you know how I love my granny naps."

His armour had been discarded for a tunic in darkest blue – allegedly his favourite colour – the slightly lower neckline revealing a faint tan line where normally his mail shirt would have rested. Eirin smiled up at him – he looked great in blue…and green, and brown, and black and – oh every blasted colour - except purple and yellow…for some _odd _reason. Would there ever come a time when she would stop enjoying just looking at him? Maybe when he was old – _older –_ and…_sigh._ Knowing her luck he would turn into a ruggedly handsome older man while she turned into a wizened, bent old crone, frightening small children.

"Just thinking about Fergus," Eirin told him with a small smile. "And…ho-Highever. It's been such a long time since I've been back, I suppose. The two of us should have come back together. It wasn't fair to let him face it alone."

Fergus had been at Alistair's coronation. When Eirin had seen him across the throne room, looking tired and older and _thin,_ she had thrown protocol to the wind and herself at him, the two of them falling into a tangled heap of sibling happiness, completely unaware that in her flight she had knocked Bann Coerlic onto Bann Alfstanna (and had been squealing too much to hear the ringing slap that Alfstanna administered because the sour old misanthrope had thrown out his hands and they had landed in a place where they _shouldn't have_).

_Where have you been? You're alive! You're alive! Where have you been?_ She had demanded of him over and over again, until Alistair's laughter from the dais brought her back to the present and she remembered they were in the _middle_ _of a coronation ceremony_.

"Well, you can tell the Teyrn of Highever that the King of Ferelden could not spare you." He wrapped her arms around her then; a warm golden cage of comfort.

Eirin shook her head, insistent. "I _should_ have been with him. The state of Cousland Castle when he left was very different when Duncan and I…fled" _leaving my dying father and mother behind – and so many others besides._ What had Fergus had to face on his return? He had been one of the very few that had managed to survive Ostagar. He hadn't been in the valley with the main forces so had been spared the massacre. Still, he had been badly injured and when he had recovered enough to travel, had managed to make it to Denerim _after _the Archdemon had been despatched.

He hadn't been able to stay, needing to return home as soon as possible, keen to find out for himself the damage that Rendon Howe had inflicted on their childhood home.

Eirin had put off the return to Highever, using the excuse that she hadn't taken up Morrigan's horrendous proposition or declared herself as candidate for queen simply to desert Alistair at the first opportunity. While Eamon _and _Alistair had been surprised at her declaration, Eirin had been fiercely insistent. _I made him king. I don't intend for him to do it alone._ Unfortunately the price of that decision was that Fergus had gone to face the ghosts of Castle Cousland on his own.

"I think you're being too hard on yourself, my love" Alistair told her, tightening his embrace. He kissed her hair, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "You Couslands I've found, are a _tough _lot and Fergus is no exception. I think Arl Eamon is secretly pleased the new King of Ferelden has allied himself with such a powerful and respected family. In fact if you weren't made a grey warden and I hadn't met you and fallen head over heels in love with you, Eamon would have found a way to marry me off to a Cousland anyway."

Eirin had to really _think _about that one. She shook her head in confusion, unable to understand his reasoning.

"Alistair…?" she began cautiously.

"Yes, dear, sweet, wonderful, never-critical-when-I-make-odd-illogical-statements, wife-and-queen-to-be?"

She tried not to laugh – he was making it difficult.

"Oh, so you _have _realised that if Duncan hadn't been at Castle Cousland that day, I would have perished along with my parents and the only Cousland left alive would have been Fergus?"

"Yes" Alistair stated bluntly. "I realised that oh…about half a second after I said it – so let's just…forget I did and…we can move on to the more interesting part of the conversation."

It was that tone of voice again. The one that reminded her of lampposts in winter and warm chocolate.

"Conversation?" Eirin asked, just to be sure she had heard right. She turned to face him.

"Well…not _too _much conversation will actually be involved, I have to admit. In fact, I really doubt whether either of us will be talking much at all…"

oOo

She had cried.

Great, big, rasping, sobbing, gulping wet tears that had left both Fergus and Alistair completely at a loss what to do. It had taken just one glimpse of Fergus under the arch at the entry to the outer courtyard; an image that she had seen so many times before - and the too-obvious space beside him – to break the last thread holding her tightly-bound emotions in check. Once the first tear had broken free, a flash flood ensued, inevitable and unstoppable and the two men could only stand beside her, not meeting each other's gaze, looking awkward and increasingly distressed themselves as the moments ticked by.

There had only been one occasion that Fergus could recall his sister ever crying (beyond the years of very early childhood) – when Hound, her first mabari had passed away – and that had been of short duration, replaced by a stoic straightening of her shoulders and a rocklike set to her jaw. _It's over; I'm done now. I'm a Cousland – Couslands don't cry._

But they did.

And rather heartily too.

As no amount of back-patting or words of consolation seemed to penetrate Eirin's wall of misery, Alistair had simply scooped her up into his arms and Fergus had led the two of them to the family wing of the castle. Alistair had stayed awhile, stroking her hair and offering her cleaner handkerchiefs until the shuddering sobs had lessened and her tear-swollen eyes had closed. Of course, the large glass of strong spirits that she had been forced to drink may have had something to do with that.

When she awoke, Eirin felt…better.

She could have done without the pounding headache, but that was a minor thing, pushed to the back of her mind. A jug of water had been left by the side of the bed and she drank three tumbler-fuls, feeling the ache in her head start to fade. She wondered what time it was – how long had she been asleep? But most of all, how could she bring herself to face Alistair and Fergus?

"Ugh…I'm such a child…" she groaned, sinking her head into her hands.

The last of the water she poured into a ceramic bowl on the washstand and splashed her face, scrubbing at her eyes to rid them of grit and dried tears. Once that was done she looked around the room. The furnishings were familiar…how many times had she played with Hound on that rug? Lying on his back, reading him an account of The Rebel Queen's fight against the Orlesians? How many times had she hid under that valance, counting the dust kittens under the bed until her mother had stopped looking for her in sheer exasperation? How many times had she stood at the window, watching the knights march along the walls, looking for the flash of red and the slight wave of his hand, acknowledging the fact that he _knew _she was watching him?

Eirin smiled – a sad smile that acknowledged all that she had lost, but also how much was still left behind and how much she had _gained_. She fell back onto the bed, staring up at the faded canopy. It wasn't completely flat…and it took her a few minutes to remember _why._

The servant that arrived some time later to find the _future Queen of Ferelden_ climbing the bed post was too discreet to make comment, even if her eyes did widen in disbelief and her mouth gape until she remembered her task and cleared her throat. The dark haired young woman clinging to the bed post didn't even have the grace to return her feet to the floor as she responded, instead shimmying _further up_ the half-tree trunk posts.

"Look, I'll be there in a minute," Eirin assured the other woman. "Don't wait for me though – you just go on and uh…carry on and all that." An airy wave and she slipped, one foot kicking out for balance as she swore and wrapped both arms around the bed post again. Nodding, the servant carefully backed out into the hallway, shaking her head. She had worked with nobles before – her last post had been in West Hill with Arl Wulff. His boys had gotten to all sorts of larks but she had heard the Teyrn's family were _respectable._ It took all kinds, she guessed.

oOo

This was _familiar._ She wondered whether she would remember…closing her eyes Eirin reached out her hand, feeling her fingers connect with the surface of the stone. Smiling to herself Eirin trailed her fingers along the wall. How many times had she done this? Too many to count, but her skin remembered, feeding memories up her arm into her head. The statue of Elethea Cousland; gouged and chipped, the left hand missing several fingers but _still there, _standing guard in her little alcove. _Here _the ground sloped sharply down to the family vault, the wood of the doors rough with youth. The old doors had been worn smooth by the years and by generations of guards resting their backs against them on the colder nights. They had not withstood the battering rams of Arl Howe's soldiers.

The wall felt _odd _along here, crumbly to the touch and slightly greasy. _A fire had burned here, not too long ago. _Eirin moved on quickly – there was new stone; not quite flush with the surrounding wall, the mortar rough. She paused, listening with increasing awareness of the sounds of castle life around her: the footfalls of the castle staff going about their daily duties; the distant sound of mabari, echoing hollowly in the direction of the stables. The distinctive metallic ring of armour as some guardsmen passed by and from the other side of the wall, the unmistakeable thud of a number of arrows striking their targets.

_Turn here and…_someone reciting the Chant of Light. Not Mother Mallol, but another, younger voice. A little further and her fingers found the doors to the Archives. The doors had always been open then as they were today, but all was silent beyond. Brother Aldous had been one of the many slain on that night many months ago. Fergus had mentioned in his letters it had been proving difficult employing another archivist. She wondered whether it was because the family library just wasn't the same without the brother's historical sermons and as a result, Fergus couldn't find it in his heart to try particularly hard to find a replacement for their old tutor.

She knew the moment she had stepped out into the kitchen gardens. The air felt less…_closed in,_ saltier – even though a stone wall surrounded cook's pumpkins and pea trellises as well, protecting her precious produce from the gales that swept the castle surrounds. Eirin opened her eyes at last and unlatched the garden gate. Outside she could see where her mother's once immaculate archways and hedges were being gently coaxed back to their former glory. It was clear by the amount of activity that Fergus was putting an extra effort into restoring Eleanor Cousland's much loved shrubberies and groves to their former beauty. Given time and the will of nature, Eirin knew that they would.

Following the servant's directions, Eirin found herself at the entry to her mother's rose grove. In the centre of the garden was a domed rotunda of carved marble, partially obscured by an elderly climbing rose. Unlike most of the roses here having given over to leaf and wood, the climbing rose was in full flower; white blooms contrasting against the deepest of green.

Alistair stood under the dome alone, wholly entranced by a golden-winged butterfly perched trustingly in his palm. As Eirin approached, the butterfly flitted away; Alistair watching it in boyish disappointment.

"Oh, you scared it away"

"Sorry"

His eyes when he met hers were searching, concerned he might find cause for another outbreak of tears. Eirin smiled reassuringly at him and joined him under the dome.

"Your brother…How're you…? You know you look _terrible._"

"Thanks"

"No, I mean it – your eyes are all puffy and your skin's all red and mottled and you look like you haven't slept for-"

"Right, thanks. You can stop now." Eirin rolled her eyes, then grimaced up at him. "Do I really look that bad?"

"Oh yes. Just _awful._ I've seen darkspawn more attractive – ouch! Ooh, was that _really _necessary?"

"Yes. It was." Eirin looked around. She noticed a table had been set up behind the rotunda, in the sunnier part of the garden, along with settings for three people. "Where's Fergus? Has he been called away?"

Alistair's brow crinkled, and a dark flush rose up his neck to his ears. "He – er – stepped out to handle a crisis. Someone called…Peony?" She _knew _what Alistair was thinking – _mistress _- but after the darkspawn jibe, she wasn't going to go lightly on him.

"Oh, you don't know about Peony?" she asked him airily. "_Everyone _knows about Peony. She's very special."

"With a name like 'Peony' she should be…" Alistair muttered. "Wow, I guess you know…as Teryn…is she a local?" he asked, keeping his tone polite. "A nice girl? Has she been in court? I thought Eamon had introduced me to every pretty titled girl in Ferelden, but I don't remember anyone called Peony"

"She's not titled. But her pedigree is _impeccable._"

"Really? Huh. I'm sure I would have remembered a name like that. So are we to expect an announcement soon? I know it hasn't been too long since, well…and you mentioned that Fergus was still in mourning, I never expected…I guess he must be keen to re-establish the Cousland line, right?"

"Well, of course. In fact," Eirin told him, "we're expecting a delivery any day now."

His eyes widened – then narrowed suspiciously at her. He knew that particular look quite well – added to the fact that she had mentioned previously how her brother was still mourning the loss of his young wife and son – it had been a love-match, of course it would take time for him to deal with the loss. Not to mention discussions that he had had himself with Fergus…so who was…?

"She's a dog, isn't she?" Alistair said, in a flat voice. "I should _know _you Couslands by now – nobles and their mabari! '_impeccable pedigree'_ my bearded aunt!"

Eirin laughed – she had underestimated him. She had expected him to take _much _longer to figure it out. She poked him sharply in the arm.

"_That's _for before," she said.

Alistair turned serious: "I don't know why I didn't catch on sooner," he said with a small lift of his shoulders. "Fergus told me Howe wasn't too kind to the Cousland kennels – he'd found…well I guess mabari, being smart, knew someone like Rendon Howe couldn't be trusted." Eirin winced – she had heard that story. Fergus had written a long angry letter to her. He hadn't mentioned anything else, but Howe seemed to have taken his petty vengeance against the Cousland line on the kennels. It was even worse when one considered that the younger, more capable mabari had gone with Fergus to Ostagar. The ones left behind had been too old, mere puppies or pregnant bitches.

"…bastard," she muttered darkly under her breath, her hands clenching. She shook her head – much like a mabari after a drink of water, trying to dispel the angry thoughts she was beginning to harbour. It was unconstructive. Howe was dead and the castle had been returned to the rightful owners. _And there is something else I must do._

"So er…" Alistair began to say, looking around the garden – and whatever for, Eirin wondered? "How long do you think he'll be gone?" _Huh? _"Well you know, we're in this lovely secluded spot…alone. Just you and I – and some very discreet gardeners on the other side of that hedge – but that's probably as 'alone' as the two of us will ever get…" He sighed. "Are we _ever, _really going to get a chance to be truly alone? I mean not that the nights…well, you know what I mean…When a man can't even give his betrothed a chaste peck on the cheek without half a dozen other people looking on and holding up score cards, something's got to be wrong."

"Well, there's the honeymoon," Eirin pointed out. "We'll be alone for that."

"Urgh, yes I do remember - Eamon's already shown me the _plans. _Besides, that's a whole _two months _away. I can really understand why people elope, I really do."

Eirin snorted, in a most unladylike way – and reminded him that delaying their wedding to six months after the coronation has been _his _idea. Denerim needed to be rebuilt; people needed to mourn. It would have been insensitive to celebrate such a happy occasion when the capital city was mostly rubble. While the coronation could not wait, the wedding certainly could.

"I'm actually…glad you brought up – well the engagement and all that," Eirin stepped away, trying to compose her thoughts. The worse thing that could happen is if this came out all the wrong way – which considering it was _her_ that was trying to convey it, was quite possible, even probable.

Alistair stared at her, "You're _not_ going to call this off are you?" He had meant the question to be jokey; whimsical – _ha, ha, there's no way you can turn down a catch like me_…could she? Really? "Um…"

"It's just that I wanted to get things straight between the both of us, before the two of us…tied the knot."

"This isn't about that time in The Pearl with that…uh…you aren't talking about that, thank goodness." _No, not 'thank goodness' at all._ "So what do you mean? Do I really want to know?"

"I'm not too sure," Eirin grimaced. Why was this so difficult to do? "It's about…someone I met, a long time ago."

His face went still, his warm-as-honey eyes attentive but wary. As she didn't speak right away, he prompted her with a non-committal, "So."

"So," she repeated. "He made a big impression on me…"

She began pacing from one end of the rotunda to the other. "I mean you could hardly say it was anything like a _crush _or anything – I was young, _really _young – not like Rory Gilmore – I mean, phew! That was…that was…I mean the hair and those _eyes _and the first time he gave me concussion I thought I was in _love, _completely and…uh, I hadn't meant to say it like that." _This is coming out wrong, I should have known._

Alistair gaped at her. _Yup, _his expression completely confirmed. _Totally and utterly wrong._

"There is a point to this," Eirin laughed nervously. "A point…what was I going to say? Look, just…" She gave up talking and grabbed his hand instead, placing a dusty cloth-wrapped parcel into it. His mouth closed with a snap and he frowned. If he had been expecting some kind of confession about how there might be another man – and the name _Zevran _popped into his mind suddenly, and was kicked out just as quickly – this was _not _what he expected.

Meanwhile Eirin was asking herself, _what is the worst that could happen? _That it didn't belong to him after all and it would mean nothing whatsoever to him and that would be the end of it.

Except that she really, _really _wanted it to belong to him and she did want him to remember and she could say that here's the proof that mother fate works in mysterious and wonderful ways and look, she chose you for me a long time ago. _Urgh, that's so corny! _But how many girls in Ferelden get to be born of a noble family, meet a completely random boy in her girlhood and then after a completely unpredictable, impossible set of events, gets to not only see him ever again – and let's face it, Ferelden is a _big _place – but fall in love with him? What were the odds of meeting someone like that when either of them could have ended up on completely different paths that never crossed again? Perhaps in another universe, Alistair had been killed in Ostagar or an alternative Eirin had not escaped Howe and his men. Or in another universe a young Eirin would have been married to someone else – or another Alistair took his vows and became a Templar, devoting the rest of his life in service to the Chantry?

Alistair had unwrapped the cloth from around the parcel and was staring at the miniature golem doll in his palm. It took a while but he finally said, "I had one of these once. Arl Eamon bought it for me; when I was young."

Eirin allowed a little air into her lungs. Just a little.

"So you mentioned – in Denerim – when we went to The Wonders of Thedas."

"Where did you…?"

"The little boy I met dropped it. I made sure I picked up every piece and glued it back together. I always meant to – I _wanted _to return it to him. Except that the next time I was in Redcliffe I was a bit preoccupied and in any case I didn't have it on me at the time. After that first night, I hoped to The Maker he hadn't been one of the undead we'd had to…anyway I always wanted to meet him again. I thought about him a lot – did I tell you he'd made quite the impression on me? I suppose I'm repeating myself…Alistair, _please _say something."

"I…" he gave a shrug. "I don't know what to say. First it was my mother's amulet, now…_this._ All I can think of is how incredibly lucky I am that someone could even be bothered…you know, just for the record – I did have one of these in Redcliffe; one of the very few possessions I'd had as a child. In fact it was really only my mother's amulet and this doll. Arlessa Isolde didn't really like me having anything that might make me _happy_ and I didn't have a lot of storage space in the stables…I thought I'd lost it and I'd almost forgotten I'd ever owned this.

He stared off into the distance, remembering. "I recall – a small fierce girl in a ridiculously frilly dress. She bought me cheese. I remember thinking it was love at first sight."

"Really?" Eirin asked, glowing with pleasure. "With me?"

"Did I say 'you'? No, no, no I mean the _cheese._ That was _really_ good cheese."

"B-b-buh…what about…?"

"The girl?" Alistair asked. "She _terrified _me. I've never felt more in fear of my life as I did then. I thought she was going to _eat me_ – and steal my cheese – did I tell you it was great cheese? I almost wet myself – in fact, I recall that I probably did…or was that the mud – _you_ made me sit in mud. The Arlessa was _furious _with me." He saw her face fall and added hastily, in a less whimsical tone of voice, "not that it would have mattered. Isolde was always furious with me. I left for the Chantry the day after the tournament. It had already been decided I think, between Eamon and Isolde. It didn't stop me from losing my temper with him when he told me that night."

"I felt so bad about it," Eirin admitted with guilty grimace, "I felt responsible for getting you in trouble. Wait…" She pointed to the golem doll. "This _is _yours, right? I'm not giving this to the wrong person – the little golem boy I'd met was shorter than me – and his hair was very blonde but his eyes…"

"Oh? Did you expect someone else then? Am I not quite up to snuff? Are you disappointed now?"

She threw her arms around him then, shaking her head, "Never. You exceeded my expectations…"

"And you mine," he told her with a cheeky grin that reflected her own. "I always knew my ferocious cheese-pal in the blue dress would grow into a beautiful, ferocious slayer of dragons – I'm just lucky that she turned out to be my best friend too. I love you, you know – just in case you've forgotten…always…"

_Always nice to know…_"And I you" she said. "Always."

oOo


	8. Epilogue Babes & Bunnies

And now…for the epilogue…apologies to all those who like to keep to the sunny side of canon – I'm afraid I've blithely and disrespectfully ignored it here, because I can't help myself.

oOo

**Epilogue – Babes and Bunnies**

"…and this little nug went 'wee wee wee' all the way home…"

"Oh phew, I was wondering whether that would have a happy ending. I'm glad it did."

Alistair uncrossed his ankles; he had been leaning in the doorway and came into the room, kneeling in front of the two of them, reaching out to stroke a finger along the baby's palm, his eyes lighting up as the tiny hand wrapped around his finger.

"I'll sleep better tonight; knowing nugs all over Ferelden are safe and sound and tucked into their little nug-beds."

Eirin smiled at the two of them, thinking to herself that she'd never tire of seeing that look on her husband's face whenever he was around their son – both their sons. She dropped her cheek onto the top of Bryce's head, loving the feel of his baby-fine hair against her skin. In the cot behind her, Duncan stirred, giving a tiny baby hiccup. Alistair craned his neck, checking to make sure all was well – Duncan was a champion sleeper, when he wasn't being a mighty howler. He thankfully continued to slumber.

At a touch over twelve weeks of age, the two babies were already beginning to look vastly different. Bryce was the larger of the twins, with a head of dark hair that stood up on his head, just like his father. His eyes were turning from baby blue to jade green, with an interesting ring of expanding amber in them…Eirin knew this because she spent a lot of time looking into those eyes.

Duncan on the other hand though slightly smaller, was the more social of the two, with barely a dusting of blonde hair over his head and a pair of eyes that were a startling, smiling shade of midnight blue.

No one had thought two grey wardens conceiving _one _child possible, but _two_? Alistair himself had wondered about it when she had first told him they would expect an interesting arrival in the next few months. Eirin had simply shrugged and pointed out that the 'experts' at Weisshaupt Fortress hadn't said it would be _impossible_ exactly, just highly _improbable._

_Especially, _Eirin added to herself, _when apostate mages and forbidden dark rituals are involved._

On the other hand, even Eirin had to admit that she had only been expecting _one _tiny arrival. Two had been quite a shock to the system and it amazed her how quickly she had adapted to two tiny mouths to feed as it meant two perfect babies to cuddle – and they _were _perfect – two of the most perfect babies in all of Ferelden, despite Wynne's pragmatic statement that to their parents, _all_ babies were perfect.

"Have you finished for the day?" she asked Alistair. "I was wondering after all this time whether Eamon would at the least give you time off for good behaviour."

By the unhappy twist of his mouth, Eirin guessed their favourite court advisor still had a large list of things for Alistair to do today.

"For a father himself," Alistair commented, "Eamon takes a fairly harsh view of men who actually _want _to spend time with their families." He scratched an eyebrow tiredly. "He's been pressing _again_ to make an official announcement for the succession."

"Still?" Eirin sighed. "We're talking about _babies _here. They don't even have teeth, much less have any idea whether they want to _rule._"

"That's what I keep telling him, whenever the subject comes up. Who's to say whether _either_ of them will want to rule? What if they want to become a pirate, or a town crier or a cheese taster? Who am I to stand in the way of a perfectly respectable occupation?" He frowned, looking fiercely stubborn. "No, I'm putting my foot down on this one. Eamon will just have to wait until they're old enough to make their own decision."

"Wow…that's really…_un-_kingly of you."

"No one should have their lives forced on them," he said with quiet determination, adding swiftly: "not that I don't think kinging's been a bad thing…exactly." _Right…_Eirin hid a smile by placing yet another kiss on the top of Bryce's head. The first thing he had done after the coronation (besides getting drunk on a _full pint _of weak ale), was hide his crown under the bed when Eamon hadn't been looking. It had needed to be moved several times to avoid the palace staff finding it and in the end Eamon had commissioned another one – which also mysteriously went missing.

"I'm really looking forward to him leaving," he said, standing up. By _leaving, _Eirin knew he meant Eamon's long-delayed trip to Orlais. Alistair had been keen to re-establish good relations with the Orlesian Empress and Isolde was to go with them. Eirin did feel a twinge of guilt over that – they would be travelling with a very young child of their own and she felt deeply uncomfortable about it, but it had been Alistair's idea. Isolde was unhappy about being so far from her first born, but it wasn't as if Connor hated it at the mages' tower. If anything he gave the impression being locked away from his mother was a _good_ thing. And…it was going to get Isolde out of Eirin's hair. The battle over the wet nurse notwithstanding, it would be good to be able to have the palace to themselves for a bit…well themselves and a hundred-odd other people.

They had promised Eamon _faithfully _that the palace would still be intact by the time he returned and Teagan would be on hand to make sure everyone was behaving themselves. Sort of. Fergus would be here too and Eirin had arranged for Leliana to visit to do some very important matchmaking between her favourite Bann and Bard, before heading 'back to business'.

Alistair sighed, "What I'm _not _looking forward to; is you leaving."

"That won't be for a while, Alistair."

Eirin stood, placing Bryce into the cot next to Duncan, Alistair helping to rearrange the blanket with minimum disturbance to the smaller twin. Bryce gave a wide yawn, but his eyes refused to close. Eirin wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Running the warden's headquarters by correspondence isn't an ideal arrangement," she told him. "Even with Nate there. It isn't fair. Until we have enough wardens, I need to be there as much as possible."

"And how many is 'enough'?" he asked raising an eyebrow at her.

"Oh I don't know, more than the Orlesians anyway."

"That'll take _decades, centuries,_" He groaned. "You know how these Orlesians breed – like bunnies. Little fluffy bunnies, munching on carrots cut into the shape of flowers."

"So you think we should export some of our _Ferelden _bunnies to Orlais to compete? The great, big, muscle-bound, bronto-eating ones?"

"Yup, those bunnies," Alistair agreed with a chuckle. "I've packed them myself into Eamon's hand luggage. Just don't tell him – I'd like him to be all nonplussed about why all his smallclothes have giant holes in them."

There was a soft, tentative knock on the door. Alistair gave a loud, heavy sigh.

"Back to work, I suppose." He bent over the cot, brushing the lightest of kisses on Duncan's head, then Bryce – who chose that moment to reach up, grabbing a hold of his father's nose – "Um…ow…since ben did babies have such powerful gribs?"

"Since…" Eirin caught herself in time before she mentioned something she shouldn't have. She had almost said, _since magic was involved._ "That's his sword arm," she said instead, gently extracting Alistair's nose from their son's grip.

"Right. I knew that."

He stood for a moment watching his two boys, his expression unreadable. _Thirty years, give or take,_ Alistair had told her shortly after the joining. It would be even less than that for Eirin now, thanks to Morrigan's little intervention - and was it worth it, shortening her life even further to give Alistair the family he'd always wanted? _Stupid question…_

Their boys wouldn't be left alone. The subject had been discussed at length before Bryce and Duncan were even born and they had put together a plan; a network of reliable, smart people who would be there for their boys when the two of them couldn't anymore.

Eirin was the last in line for one of his kisses, but as it was longer and more…personal, she didn't mind.

One more sigh. "I'll see you later?"

"You know where I live…"

Alistair gave one last wave over his shoulder and he was gone, the page boy that had come to collect him, scurrying nervously after. _Phew, close call that._ Eirin knelt on the chair, leaning over the cot to address their two boys. She threw a cautious look over her shoulder to ensure no one was listening outside then put a finger to her lips.

"Whoops," she addressed them in a whisper. "Don't let Mama make that same mistake again all right? We'll just keep it to ourselves that the two of you are here because witches can be _negotiated with_." She dropped them both a kiss on their foreheads, Bryce's eyes finally fluttering closed as she did. There was a pile of correspondence to be answered and reports to go through and arrangements to be made for their guests' stay – best to snatch some time while the boys were sleeping because she knew it would only be a very small window of opportunity.

"Good night…my little golem boys…"

oOo

And 'phew!' from me too. Hope you've enjoyed reading this little bit of self-indulgent fluff as much as I have writing it. I've had a blast. Thanks for your reviews – they've been appreciated, especially when you've let me know I've gone a bit wrong! (please keep doing it!)

Of course huge, huge thanks to Bioware for creating such a wonderful, engaging, fascinating world and for not seeming to mind too much their characters and places being pilfered and abused. I've really enjoyed playing in their sandpit. I've tried not to kick over their sandcastle…too much. Now if I can only figure out what Morrigan has really left behind…but I won't spoil that, just in case…

Cheers everyone!


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